


The Heart of Sorrow

by Jenksel



Series: The Red Sorceress and the White Knight [1]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, Angst, Cassandra will never watch “Titanic” again!, Casskins, Cursed Gems, Disasters, Do Not Re-Post To Another Site!, F/M, Married Couple, May/December Romance, Reunions, Separations, Team as Family, Titanic - Freeform, Whump, ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-07 07:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 75,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21454336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: A treasure retrieved from the remains of the Titanic turns out to be an ancient magical weapon of mass destruction, and Jenkins and Cassandra are its first victims.
Relationships: Cassandra Cillian/Jenkins | Galahad, Eve Baird/Flynn Carsen
Series: The Red Sorceress and the White Knight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571476
Comments: 96
Kudos: 28





	1. The Portland Annex, 2019

Ezekiel Jones bounced down the corridor leading to the Library’s movie theater, a paper sack of double-cheese and jalapeno sliders with large fries in one hand and an extra-large soda in the other. Tucked into the waistband of his jeans was “Ash vs. the Living Dead” and its sequel, “Army of Darkness”, along with “Zombieland”, just for good measure. The others teased him about his taste in movies, but he didn’t care—cheesy horror, sci-fi and fantasy movies were his favorite way to decompress, and he’d been looking forward to this afternoon all week.

As he laid his hand on the door handle, though, the young man stopped cold. From inside the theater he swore that he could hear a woman crying. A look of perplexity crossed his face; Baird was upstairs with Flynn and Jenkins doing some kind of boring stuff involving Arcadian mumbo-jumbo—or was it Akkadian? He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Who cares: Tomato, tomahto. If it wasn’t related to Australia or stealing in some way, it was _all_ mumbo-jumbo to him.

By process of elimination, then, the crying woman must be Cassandra. Juggling his burgers and soda, he turned the heavy brass knob and pushed the door inward with his hip, poking his tousled black head around it. Sure enough, there she was, seated on the sofa and sobbing, a huge pile of used tissues overflowing the small end table next to her. On the screen of the large television in front her was the most disgustingly clichéd trope in the book: Rose saying a tearful, tragic goodbye to Jack as his lifeless corpse slipped into the blackness to rest forever on the floor of the Atlantic, along with the broken bodies of the Titanic and her hundreds of hapless victims. Ezekiel rolled his eyes.

“Oi!” he called impatiently from the doorway. Cassandra jumped at the unexpected sound and whirled around in her seat, a soggy tissue clutched in her small hand.

“Ezekiel!” she yelled, quickly dabbing her eyes. “You scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry,” he offered carelessly, bounding down the side aisle to the sofa. “What’re you doing here? I called dibs on the theater for this afternoon ages ago!” Cassandra grabbed a fresh tissue and blew her nose.

“I know, I know—don’t worry!” she sniffled. “I just had a sudden urge to see “Titanic” again, I thought I could get it in before you got here.”

“Yeah, well, I guess you guessed wrong, then!” the thief said cheerily. “So unless you want to watch Ash kick evil dead ass with me, it’s time for you to shove off!” He grabbed the remote and stopped the movie, then jogged over to remove the disc from the player.

“Hey!” Cassandra yelled angrily. “I was watching that!”

“’Was’ being the key word in that sentence,” he said breezily. “We all agreed, remember? Starting at noon on Saturdays, we each take turns picking the movies each week. Anyone who doesn’t like the picks is welcome to go read a book!” He handed her the “Titanic” dvd. “It is now 12:00 pm on _my_ Saturday!”

“Fine!” she huffed tartly, snatching the dvd from his outstretched hand. “But why is it that for someone who hates rules, they suddenly matter so much whenever they benefit _you_?” Jones shrugged his shoulders and gave her a cock-eyed grin.

“One of the great mysteries of life, yeah?”

“Ugh!” she said, rolling her eyes in defeat. She began to replace the dvd into its case.

“How can you watch that scary, freaky, zombie, magic stuff, anyway?” the redhead grumbled as Jones prepared his own dvd for playing. “Don’t you get enough of that in real life?” 

“How can _you_ watch that sappy, mushy, romantic, kissy-kissy love drama crap?” he shot back. “Don’t _you_ get enough of _that_ in real life with Jenkins?” Cassandra’s head whipped up and she glared at the Aussie with fiery blue eyes.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?!” she said, warning in her voice. Realizing he was suddenly, unexpectedly on thin ice, Ezekiel quickly backpedaled, holding his hands up in surrender.

“What’s _what_ supposed to mean?” he asked as he went back to the dvd player. 

“You know exactly ‘what’!” she accused. “Did he say something to you?!” Jones turned around to look at the young woman, confusion on his face.

“Cassandra, _what_ are you talking about?” Something about her expression caught his attention then. She was upset, but he could also detect a trace of fear in her eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked, all levity gone now. He cocked his head as an idea came to him. “Did you have a fight with Jenkins or something?” 

Cassandra dropped her head and began to play with the dvd case still in her hands. _Bingo!_ the thief thought.

“We didn’t fight; we had an _argument_ last night,” she confessed anxiously.

“About what?”

“Magic,” she sighed. She looked up again and began speaking, the words tumbling out as quickly as she could form them. “I told him that I wanted to work more deeply with magic. Not just with books and potions and spells and artifacts that are already made—I want to learn how to _create_ my own! I want to learn the kinds of magic that _Merlin_ knew! And I can do it, Ezekiel, I _know_ I can do it, the Library has all of Merlin’s own notes and books! They’re a whole treasure trove of magical knowledge, and it’s just sitting there, going to waste!”

“And Jenkins says…?” prompted Ezekiel. Cassandra’s face instantly clouded.

“_Jenkins says_ that it’s too dangerous,” she spat with irritation. “_Jenkins says_ that Merlin’s magic is just too esoteric and complicated and obscure for any modern person to understand properly!” Cassandra looked at Ezekiel, her angry eyes narrowed. “He basically stood right there and told me to my face that I was just too stupid to understand it!”

“Aww, come on, Cassandra, Jenkins would never say that!” Ezekiel said, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers. Unfortunately, he rubbed the wrong way.

“Oh, of _course_ you’d take _his_ side!” the Librarian snapped, her eyes flashing. “Men _always_ stick together!"

“Okay, okay—sorry!” Jones said holding up his hands; the Library didn’t pay him enough to get in the middle of domestic squabbles. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes!” 

Cassandra opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off by the ringing of Jones’s phone. _Thank God!_ he thought as he pulled it out of his pocket and answered it; she recognized Eve Baird’s voice on the other end, but couldn’t hear her words. After a few seconds of fruitless protests, he hung up with a sigh of frustration and jammed the phone back into his jeans.

“Great! Come on, Cassandra,” he said sourly, grabbing up his sack of burgers and the soda. “Duty calls. Baird says the Clippings Book is going bonkers and she wants us upstairs, ASAP.”

* * *

Their new mission began as most of them did, with the Clippings Book fluttering its pages anxiously and hopping wildly on its stand, signaling that a particularly important artifact had been uncovered. Everyone quickly gathered around the large, leather-bound book to examine the various newspaper clippings magically glued to its thick, cream-colored pages. Sharp-eyed Eve Baird noticed at once that Cassandra stood apart from Jenkins, and that the normally affectionate couple now seemed tense and stiff. The Guardian caught a brief, pained glance from Jenkins that Cassandra totally ignored. 

_Trouble in paradise,_ Baird thought; she would have to keep an eye on that situation.

Jacob Stone was the first to reach the excited book, and as he held it down on its stand with both hands he quickly scanned the headlines of the articles.

“These clippings all seem to be about that big travelin’ ‘Hidden Treasures of the Smithsonian Museum’ exhibit that opens next week in Washington, DC,” said Jacob. “The exhibit premieres at the Smithsonian first, then it goes on a five-city tour through the US. Hundreds of items from their storage vaults, stuff that’s never been put on display before.”

“Anything that looks like a potentially magical artifact?” asked Eve as she peered over Stone’s shoulder at the clippings. 

Jacob gave a little shrug. “Hard to say. With a place nicknamed ‘America’s Attic’ there’s bound to be at least _some_ long-forgotten magical items hidden in there somewhere.” He peered closely at the articles, scanning for any mention of the items to be featured.

“This exhibit seems to have a little bit of everything—clothes, furniture, items with ties to historical events, Native American artifacts,” he continued thoughtfully. “Any of which could be magical in some way. No way to figure out which one the Clippings Book is so hyped up over, though. What do _you_ think, Jenkins?” When there was no reply, Stone and the others looked up from the book. Jenkins was staring at the clippings, his face like granite. Grunting, the Caretaker stretched out a long arm and pointed to a photograph of some of the items that were going to be on display. His finger landed on one item in the picture: A pendant made from a large blue sapphire, shaped like a teardrop and polished smooth, in a plain, functional gold setting. Even in the grainy newspaper photograph, they could see that the stone flashed and glittered with an unearthly spark. 

“_That_ is why the Clippings Book is so ‘hyped up’, as you put it,” Jenkins rumbled soberly. Everyone turned back to the book and bent to examine the photograph more closely.

“’The Crowley Sapphire,” Jacob read from the caption under the picture. “’A twenty-five-carat blue sapphire mined in Sri Lanka, said to have once belonged to the infamous English occultist, ceremonial magician, free-love advocate and so-called ‘wickedest man on earth’, Aleister Crowley’.”

Ezekiel leaned in and gave a low wolf-whistle. “Hello, _gorgeous_! Where have _you_ been all my life?”

“I wouldn’t let myself become too enamored of its beauty if I were you, Mr. Jones,” said Jenkins. “Unless I miss my guess, it’s one of the Heart Stones, and it is an _exceedingly_ dangerous item.” The old Caretaker shook his head, distress etching itself onto his face. His voice took on the familiar lecturer’s tone he adopted whenever he filled them in on an artifact.

“Late in the year 1911, we received a tip that Crowley was in possession of what believed to be a Heart Stone. As I was in the London Annex at the time, Judson ordered me to investigate and confirm the information and gather more intelligence. In the Spring of 1912, I was able to confirm all of the information we were given and that the Heart Stone was genuine. I also learned that Crowley was making plans to send the Heart to someone in New York via the Titanic on her maiden voyage.” Jenkins paused a moment and shook his head sadly.

“We tried to recover the Heart before then, but failed. Since Mr. Dare, the Librarian at the time, was absent on another mission, Judson was preparing to intercept and secure the Heart once it reached the US. Of course, sadly, the Titanic sank; it was hoped that after the ship went down, as horrible a tragedy as that was, that at least now this particular Heart Stone was safely beyond the reach of anyone else.”

“What exactly _is_ this thing, Jenkins? What’s it do?” Eve asked, not liking the heavy feeling of dread that was beginning to form in her stomach. The immortal stood up straight and turned his attention to the Gordian.

“The Heart Stones are essentially weapons, Colonel; sort of ‘magical land mines’, for lack of a better description,” the Caretaker replied, warming to the subject. “There are several such ‘land mines’ known to exist, each made of a different gemstone, each destructive in a different way—but _all_ are destructive, make no mistake!” He exhaled a breath and shook his white head again gravely.

“Some texts say they were created by vengeful gods to punish humankind, others that they’re the work of powerful sorcerers in the primordial days of wild magic, for use against each other in their interminable wars for domination. Regardless, the Stones were eventually lost, scattered throughout the world in ancient times. On very rare occasions one will crop up, usually when some hapless victim trips them. But, by then, of course, it’s too late for anyone to do anything about it.” Jenkins reached out and tapped the photograph again.

“We have an _incredibly_ rare opportunity to recover _this_ Heart Stone before it can claim a new victim. We therefore _must_ not fail!” An uneasy silence fell over the small group as Jenkins’s words sank in.

“So how do you use one of these...’mines’? How are they tripped? And what happens when they...go off?” asked Eve, her anti-terrorism training already working to find a way of neutralizing these supernatural weapons. 

“A ritual is performed to ’set the charge’, so to speak, for each Heart,” Jenkins answered. “They’re tripped merely by handling the Heart itself, physically making contact with bare skin. And as for what happens...” The immortal visibly shuddered and threw his hands up.

“That depends on the Heart. According to the legends, the Heart of Madness, for instance, destroys the victim’s mind, drives them murderously insane. The Heart of Betrayal causes its victim to die by the hand of the one he or she holds most dear.” 

“So which Heart is this one?” asked Ezekiel, waving at the Clippings Book. Jenkins shook his head and shrugged again. 

“Hard to say, Mr. Jones,” he said. “There is a list of the names of the Heart Stones, with only a vague physical description.” The immortal paused and shook his head again. “This one could be either the Heart of Death or the Heart of Despair…”

“How many of these Heart Stones are on the list?” asked Baird.

“Fifteen,” was the grim reply. “The Library already has custody of the Hearts I’ve already mentioned—Madness and Betrayal—as well as the Hearts of Destruction, Terror and Desolation.”

“Fun names,” muttered Eve, her feeling of dread increasing exponentially.

“These Heart Stones are particularly nasty artifacts, Colonel,” reiterated Jenkins. He cast a pointed look at Cassandra. “They’re the direct result of men and women trying to tame and turn wild magic to suit their own purposes, to attempt to control and destroy those whom they perceived to be their enemies. What they ended up doing was to create no more than a means of terrorizing and killing innocent victims.” Cassandra showed no reaction to her husband’s words.

“So, wait—if this thing’s so bloody dangerous to touch, why hasn’t it zapped any of the literally _hundreds_ of people who’ve probably touched it in the last few decades?” asked Jones, a disbelieving look on his face. “Why haven’t we heard of this thing before now?”

“I have a theory about that, Mr. Jones,” the Caretaker said thoughtfully. “When the wreckage of the Titanic was discovered in the 1980’s and they began to bring up artifacts, there were rumors that many of them—the Heart being among them—were donated to the Smithsonian, but we were never able to confirm or deny that. But as an important historical artifact, it would’ve received special handling. Primary among those kinds of protocols is a strict ‘no touching’ rule—no one would’ve directly touched the Heart itself, they would always be wearing gloves of some sort to prevent damaging or contaminating the artifact.” Jenkins stared at the tiny photograph intently, then looked around at the anxious faces of the team.

“We _must_ retrieve this artifact, regardless of the cost! The Library has sought for centuries to bring the various Hearts together here, where they can be safely locked away in the Special Collections Vault and under the protection of the powerful binding spells in place there.”

“Do you think the _Heart_ had something to do with the Titanic going down, Jenkins?” asked Eve.

“I honestly don’t know,” replied Jenkins, shrugging. “As I said, we don’t know which Heart this one is at the moment. Perhaps I can identify it once it’s safely here in the Library. It may have been responsible for the sinking, it may not. We simply have no way of knowing right now.” Jenkins’s voice turned hard. 

“Regardless, that Heart—like _all_ of the other Hearts—is pure evil. It _must_ be retrieved and brought to the Library where it can be starved of any more victims!”

* * *

The team quickly got to work. It didn’t take long for everyone to agree that this job had Ezekiel Jones’s name written all over it. Between his skills as a computer hacker and as a master thief, he was the logical point person—an admission that was a huge boost to his already very healthy ego. 

Jones made short work of the Smithsonian’s security system and any computer records related to the exhibit itself. In less than half an hour he had the entire security layout, guard schedules, patrol routes, clearance codes. He also got the inventory of the items in the exhibit and where exactly they were located in exhibit’s gigantic layout, tens of thousands of square feet in area. Thanks to his efforts, the team learned that the Heart Stone was set to be located in a room dedicated to various gems and other mineralogical items, rather than in the jewelry display, and housed in special cases with security features in place that would have quickly dissuaded most thieves. Jones, however, was personally insulted by what he deemed to be the simplicity of the measures. 

“You’d think with the historical value alone of some of this stuff they’d take security a _lot_ more seriously,” he groused disgustedly. “It’s almost like they _want_ someone to come in and steal something!” 

“They’re probably not really expecting anyone to steal anything,” Flynn opined. “Most thieves probably assume up front that the security is just too stiff to crack. Plus, this stuff would be impossible to fence, except to private parties or to fulfill an insanely wealthy collector’s particular wish list. Most thieves just don’t have access to people like that.”

“Yeah, well, not me, mate,” smirked Jones. “Not only can I steal this gem, but I could have it sold within a day and for top dollar.” He sighed dramatically. “You guys _really_ have no idea just how lucky you are to have me on your side!” Behind the thief, Flynn and Jake rolled their eyes as Jones, oblivious, continued to peck away on his keyboard. 

“Still, this _is_ a nice little practical exercise for me, I guess,” he continued. “A nice shiny chunk of sapphire that wants _desperately_ to come home with Big Daddy Jones!” The young Australian turned from the computer screen to face the others. His expression was now all business.

“Right. Disabling the electronic surveillance and the alarm systems will be a piece of stale cake. Once we’re inside and find the case with the Heart, it’ll take me about ten seconds to have it out and in our possession. The only thing we really need to worry about are the guards—they’re the only real wild card here. It only takes one cowboy who likes to deviate from the established protocol to mess this this whole thing up.”

“And Flynn and I will take care of those,” said Eve. “You focus on getting that sapphire, Jones. If it goes as smoothly as you’re expecting, we should be in and out before they even know what’s happened.”

“You sure you don’t want me and Cassie to come along as back-up?” asked Jacob worriedly. “You know how things associated with the Library have a tendency to go real sideways, real fast...”

“Nah, we should be fine,” said Flynn confidently as he slapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly. “This is really a relatively small, straightforward mission, we’ll only need a small team. Too many cooks in the kitchen will spoil the broth, you know!”

* * *

Today was a Sunday. Eve determined that this evening would be the best time to strike, after the Smithsonian closed. No visitors, the guards would be lax on a quiet weekend night, and with luck they would all be back in the Annex in time for Eve and Flynn to keep their planned dinner and a movie date.

As the trio prepared to go through the door Jenkins had dialed up for them, the Caretaker once again anxiously gave them instructions on how to handle the cursed gem.

“Remember, under _no_ circumstances are you to touch the Heart itself, not even the setting. It’s always better to err on the side of caution when it comes to dealing with artifacts as dangerous as this one! I saw on the inventory list that it’s still hanging from its original chain; pick it up by the chain, Mr. Jones, and place it _immediately_ into the box I gave you. The box will lock magically the second you close the lid. Do _not_, under _any_ circumstances, let the Heart itself touch you!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard you the first fifty times, Jenkins!” huffed Jones impatiently. “Pick up cursed rock, put cursed rock in magic-jacked box, close lid of magic-jacked box, go back to Annex. I got it!”

“You forgot the part about the chain!” reminded Jenkins sharply.

Before Jones could say another word, Eve stepped between the two and tried to reassure the older man. “Don’t worry, Jenkins, we’ve got this. We shouldn’t be gone more than an hour.”

“I certainly hope so, Colonel,” he replied fervently. “I can’t express strongly enough how dangerous this artifact is. The sooner it’s in the Library, the easier I’ll rest tonight!”

Flynn came to stand next to Eve and put his arm around his Guardian’s waist. “No worries, Jenkins!” he said brightly. “Why don’t you go make some tea or something? That’ll take your mind off of things while we’re gone.”

“No, no, I really should stay here in the workroom, just in case...” the nervous immortal began.

“Nonsense, Jenkins!” the Librarian dismissed his objection. “Go! Go! You’ve been jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs ever since the Clippings Book told us about the Heart. Even better—go spend some time with Cassandra! That’s an order! Jacob can stay here, ‘just in case’, right, Stone?”

“No problem,” affirmed Jake with knowing grin. “Go on, J, I bet Cassie’d be happy to have a little ‘alone time’ with you. If anything happens, I’ll call ya.”

Jenkins sighed and bowed his head obediently toward Flynn. “Yes, sir, if you think that would be best.”

“Of course I do!” chirped Flynn. He turned to the others members of the team. “Now that that’s settled, let’s go steal us a cursed sapphire!”

* * *

As soon as the team disappeared through the back door, Jenkins turned and resolutely started towards his rooms. Mr. Carsen was right about one thing: He _did_ need to spend some time with Cassandra. He’d been meaning to talk to her about the argument they’d had the night before this new mission popped up, but they had both been too busy with the preparations for the mission until now.

“I will be in our quarters if you need me, Mr. Stone,” he said as he walked past the younger man. Jake nodded and gave him a silent thumb’s up in acknowledgement and went back to the book he was reading, an account of the Titanic tragedy entitled _A Night to Remember_.

Jenkins stalked down the hallway that led to the spacious rooms he and his wife shared, his mind replaying the argument of a few days ago as he walked. It had been rather heated, both of them equally passionate in stating their beliefs on the matter, neither side willing to give an inch. As a result, nothing was resolved, and though Cassandra didn’t ask him to sleep elsewhere that night, she stubbornly refused to kiss him goodnight and stayed on her side of the huge bed, her back turned unyieldingly to her husband every night since then.

The Caretaker halted outside the door to their rooms, hesitating. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath in preparation, then opened the door.

“Cassandra?” he called out, quickly scanning the bedroom. “Are you here?” He heard movement coming from the direction of her private suite. A moment later the door opened and Cassandra stepped out of her sitting room, a notebook and pen in her hands. He could see her body tense at the sight of him.

“Hi,” she greeted stiffly. Jenkins took a few steps toward her.

“Mr. Carsen, Colonel Baird and Ezekiel have gone to the Smithsonian,” he informed her. “Colonel Baird assures me that they should back inside of an hour.” He waited for a response. Cassandra gave a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“Did you need something?” she asked, voice flat. She refused to meet his gaze, and he could tell that she was still angry with him. The immortal’s shoulders slumped in dejection.

“Cassandra, please; we need to talk,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I don’t like quarreling with you! These last couple of days…”

“Then don’t be so stubborn!” she snapped, raising her eyes to glare at him. She took a few steps further into the room, dropping the notebook and pen onto the large bed. “Jenkins, _why_ are you so adamant against me learning more about magic? I’ve been here five years. The whole time, I’ve read every book about magic I could get my hands on! I’m not just a dabbler, I’m serious about this! I want to _learn_! I want to _grow_! You heard what Eve said about me when she saw me at the Loom of Fate—she said I was an incredible Librarian, _and_ a sorceress! And it was only because of my magical abilities in that timeline that the damage done by Dulaque to the Loom could even be repaired in the first place!”

“I understand all of that, my dear,” Jenkins said, holding up his hands as he tried to soothe her temper. “But that was an entirely different reality. There is no guarantee that in _this_ timeline—“

“The only difference in that timeline is that _you_ weren’t there to stop me from studying magic!” she lashed out. “_You_ were still hiding yourself somewhere like a whipped dog, while the rest of the world was burned to the ground by the dragons—the dragons _your_ father awoke and angered, by the way!” Jenkins said nothing, only stood and stared at the angry young woman in front of him. Her words and their implied accusation of cowardice stung him deeply. 

“So what exactly are you saying, Cassandra?” he finally asked, his voice tight. His dark eyes hardened as he returned her stare. “That you would rather that we had never met?” Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“Omigod, you are _such_ a drama queen!” she groaned loudly. “Stop putting words into my mouth, Jenkins! That’s _not_ what I said and you know it!” The immortal raised his chin to peer down his nose at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is that what I did?” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because I very distinctly heard you say that the only thing standing between you and the acquisition of all magical knowledge and power and all of the world’s adulation that comes with it was _me_!”

“Oh! My! GOD!” Cassandra’s head fell back as she threw her hands into the air in frustration. “I cannot believe you, Jenkins! You are _so_…_so_…”

“Right?” he supplied smugly, knowing full well that it would only anger her more but unable to hold his tongue. Her head snapped up and she stared daggers at her husband.

“_Wrong_!” she yelled furiously. She turned her back on him and stomped back towards her sitting room, pausing only to snatch up her notebook and the pen. “You’re _infuriating_! That’s what you are—_infuriating_!” She disappeared into her room, slamming the door behind her. Jenkins heard the lock click loudly as she turned the key. His shoulders dropped as he scolded himself for making things worse between them. With a heavy sigh, he went over to the locked door and tapped on it softly.

“Cassandra?” he called out penitently. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that; can we please talk about this some more?” 

“No!”

“Cassandra, please!” he pleaded. “You just don’t understand how dangerous magic can be!” He jumped back from the door, startled, as something hard struck it from inside the room and landed on the floor with a thump.

“Go away!” he heard his furious wife yell. “And don’t come back until you’re ready to apologize!”

“But I just apologized!” Another object struck the door, harder this time.

“GO AWAY!”

Jenkins pulled himself up and began to smooth his suit coat. He frowned at the door and took a deep breath.

“Very well,” he said loudly. “Suit yourself, then! Stay in there until Doomsday, for all I care! I will _not_ apologize for telling the _truth_!” Jenkins turned and quickly strode across the bedroom, heading for his own suite of rooms. Just before he closed the door to his private sitting room, he heard a muted shriek of frustration and a third object thud against his wife’s door.

“Fine!” her muffled voice shouted.

“Fine!” he bellowed back childishly, then quickly slammed his door shut before she could get the final word.

* * *

“Hey, Jenkins! They’re coming back!”

The Caretaker raised his head and sighed with relief at the stifled sound of Jacob’s excited voice as he shouted from the corridor while knocking excitedly on their door. Jenkins climbed to his feet from the comfy armchair he had been dozing in and stiffly walked over to the door leading the bedroom.

“Coming, Mr. Stone!” he yelled back as he opened and passed through the doorway and into the bedroom. He headed straight to his wife’s sitting room to knock on her still-locked door.

“Cassandra, the team has returned!” he announced emotionlessly, then turned to head for the Annex workroom without waiting for an answer.

Pushing aside his current dilemma with Cassandra, Jenkins walked quickly back to the workroom, arriving just in time to see all three team members burst through the back door. Eve and Flynn had Ezekiel between them, helping him to walk. One leg of his jeans was torn and bloody.

“What happened to Jones?” barked Jacob as he and Jenkins rushed across the room.

“An especially well-trained and determined Belgian Malinois,” answered Baird through gritted teeth while she and Flynn helped Ezekiel to a chair. “We were lucky to get him off of Ezekiel and get out of there before the guards showed up!” 

“Just a little trick I picked up some years ago in New Zealand,” bragged Carsen as they gently seated Jones in the chair. “Bet you never knew that members of the lupine and canine families could be hypnotized, did you?”

“Bloody dogs!” spat Jones, wincing in pain as he dropped onto the chair. “The computer records didn’t say _anything_ about guard dogs!”

“He gonna be all right?” asked Jake worriedly, kneeling down to gently examine the thief’s wounded leg. “Should we get ‘im to a doctor?”

“He should be okay,” said Eve. “It’s a bad bite, but it’ll heal. Guard dogs have all of their shots up to date, so no rabies to worry about. We just need to get his leg cleaned up and disinfected, wrap it up and he’ll be good to go.” She grabbed Flynn’s arm and started pulling him with her.

“Come on, Flynn,” she ordered. “You can help me get the stuff from the infirmary.”

“Mr. Carsen, before you go—I hate to seem unsympathetic to Mr. Jones’s predicament,” interrupted the anxious Jenkins. “But, were you successful?”

The Librarian nodded, grinning broadly as he turned to follow Baird. “Mission accomplished, Jenkins! Ezekiel...?”

The young man grimaced and dramatically pulled an ebony box covered with arcane symbols inlaid in gold from his jacket pocket. He handed it to the taller man with a sour look. 

“Here you go, Jenkins—one super-evil weaponized bit of bling, courtesy of Ezekiel Jones, even though it nearly cost me my leg!”

Jenkins took the box and set it gently on the table. Murmuring the words of a spell, he unlocked it and opened the lid, looked inside. To his great relief, there it was: One of the infamous Heart Stones, glinting dully against the black interior of the box. 

“Well done, Mr. Jones!” he breathed sincerely. “_Very_ well done, indeed! Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to take this straight to the Security Vault and...”

Jacob, still inspecting the dog bite, touched it. Ezekiel yelped with pain and jerked bolt upright in the chair. Jake snatched his hands back, his head whipping around to look at the Caretaker.

“Jenkins! I need somethin’ to hold over this bite! His leg is still bleedin’ pretty bad!”

“I really would feel better if I could just...” began Jenkins.

“Jenkins! Come on, man!” snapped Jacob, his concern for Ezekiel making him short-tempered. “The man’s bleedin’ to death here! Put that damn rock down and help me! It’s in the Library now, it’s safe!” 

“Very good, sir,” the Caretaker said resignedly as he closed the lid on the box without relocking it. He pulled his handkerchief out of his trousers pocket as he hurried to Stone’s aid. The sooner he got this out of the way, the sooner he could get the Heart safely locked into the Vault.

His back was turned to the corridor doorway, so he didn’t see Cassandra enter the room; hearing the commotion, she’d come to see how the mission had turned out. She started going to where Jenkins and Jacob were hovering over a loudly-complaining Ezekiel. She opened her mouth to greet them, but at that moment she

Heard a sweet, sibilant voice murmuring into her ear.

“_Cassandraaaa_!”

Startled, she jumped and whirled around to see who it was, but saw nothing. She gave a tiny shake of her head in dismissal and turned back to the men helping Ezekiel. _Must be my imagination_, she told herself.

“_Cassaaaandraaaa_!”

She turned again toward the sound of the voice, felt a strange, irresistible urge to go to the long table in the middle of the room. She abruptly changed direction and walked slowly to where the black box sat, surrounded by a soft, pale gold aura of light. 

“_Caaassaaandraaaa_!”

She stretched out her hand towards the smooth ebony lid and lifted it. The sapphire inside glowed intensely, a brilliant silver-starred deep blue. It sounded like it was humming.

She lifted it carefully from the spell-protected box by its heavy gold chain. The Heart suddenly blazed like a miniature nova before her eyes, utterly enrapturing her.

“I know you!” she said dreamily, lifting her free hand to softly brush the glowing surface of the gem with back of one finger. “You’re the Heart of Sorrow!” She sniffed the air, certain that she could smell the salt air of an ocean, could almost taste it on her tongue. She shivered violently, the air around her suddenly ice cold. She thought she could see her breath as she spoke. 

“You’re so beautiful!”

Hearing her voice, Jenkins turned around, and his heart turned to ice within his chest as he watched the pretty Librarian stroke the smoldering jewel, then turn it over in her bare hands.

“_CASSANDRA_! _NO_!” he bellowed in terror as he turned to hurl himself towards her. She slowly turned her head and stared at him blankly, vaguely startled by his reaction. She felt an odd warmth in her hands, almost a burning sensation as the Heart of Sorrow demanded her attention. When she turned her head back towards the source, she was surprised to see the gemstone Heart was now ablaze with an angry, blinding indigo fire. 

She heard a loud buzzing in her ears, like a barrelful of angry hornets at first, but it soon cleared and she could hear the voices of people screaming in terror. Hundreds of people, screaming…screaming. The screams drowned out the panicked shouts coming from Jenkins, the shouts of Jacob and Ezekiel, then of Flynn and Eve as they entered the workroom and saw what was happening. Cassandra gazed intently into the Stone, her heart now filling with fear at the awful sound of the screaming. Mesmerized, she didn’t feel Jenkins’s hand grab her arm so tightly that it was sure to leave a bruise. A moment later, a sudden flash of blue light exploded out from the Heart Stone, swallowing both her and Jenkins and temporarily blinding the others.

When the light faded away, Eve Baird dropped the bowl of water clutched in her hands, letting it crash heedlessly against the floor. The stunned Guardian frantically called out for Cassandra and Jenkins as she ran over to stand in the now empty place where they’d been standing just a few seconds earlier.


	2. The Portland Annex, 2019

"Flynn! What's happened?!" Eve cried, every nerve in her body on high alert a she slipped into full Guardian mode. "Where are they?!"

Flynn and Jacob ran to the table where Baird was now standing and whirling around, in shock and disbelief as she tried to find something some trace of the two missing people, while Ezekiel hobbled painfully behind them, his injury all but forgotten.

"The Heart Stone!" Flynn said, dragging both of his hands through his hair in agitation, his voice strained and full of dread. "The Heart Stone—Cassandra tripped it! And Jenkins was touching _her_ when it went it happened! It's taken them away!"

"I heard Cassandra call it 'the Heart of Sorrow'," said Jake tightly, his eyes fixed on the spot where Cassandra had been standing only a moment before. Eve turned to a pale face Flynn, her eyes wide.

"Taken them _where,_ Flynn?" she demanded loudly, fearing the answer as the Librarian began pacing frantically. "Where has it taken them? And what does the Heart of Sorrow do?! What does that mean?"

"You heard what Jenkins told us!" Flynn's voice cracked slightly with the stress of the moment. "We don't know! He only has a list of names and vague physical descriptions for the Hearts; we don't know what each one actually does—we have no way of knowing what's happened to them!"

"No! Flynn—_no_!" The Guardian shook her head, not wanting to believe, but unable to allow herself the luxury of denial. She brutally repressed the tears that came to her eyes as her mind raced, struggling to come up with a plan of some kind, any kind.

"Wait!" barked Jacob, causing the others to fall instantly silent. He looked around at the others. "You smell that?"

Flynn, Eve and Ezekiel froze where they were. Each of them sniffed the air, puzzled looks coming to all of their faces.

"Smells like…the ocean," said Baird wonderingly. She shivered unexpectedly, her bare arms raising gooseflesh as she rubbed them. "It's _cold_, too!"

Flynn took several rapid steps away, and then back again. He repeated the strange action two more times, moving to different areas of the large room before finally coming to a halt back at the table.

"What are you…?" Ezekiel started to ask him.

"Feel that? It's much colder here next to the table than anywhere else in the workroom," Flynn said, spreading his hands to indicate the spot where the two missing people had been standing. He rubbed his face distractedly with both hands. "A clue, perhaps…"

"A clue to _what_, Flynn?" demanded Eve loudly in frustration. The Librarian threw his arms wide.

"Maybe a clue as to where they went?" he yelled, just as frustrated as his wife. "I really don't know, Eve! I'm spit-balling here! I'm sorry, I wish I had concrete answers for you, but…I just don't!"

"Remember what Jenkins said—this thing was on its way to New York, that it was on the Titanic," Jake said quietly, picking up the thread of Carsen's thought, and all eyes turned to him. He looked around the group nervously before continuing.

"The Heart went down _on the Titanic_," he continued. "It was crossing the North Atlantic in April. It's still freezing cold in that part of the ocean at that time of year."

"What the bloody hell are you trying to say, Stone?" demanded Ezekiel irritably, his leg throbbing sharply. "If you know where they are, then just spit it out!"

"Think about it, Jones!" snapped Stone gruffly, ticking items off on the fingers of one hand to make his point. "The smell of seawater in the air, the freezing cold spot where Cassandra and Jenkins were standin' before they disappeared!" He glanced at Eve and Flynn.

"Cassandra called the stone the Heart of Sorrow, actin' like she was talkin' to it or it was talkin' to her or something." Seeing that no one was understanding him, Jake spread his hands in front of his chest and waved them in agitation.

"What story has more sorrow and pathos surrounding it than the sinking of the Titanic, huh?" Jacob looked around again at the anxious faces surrounding him. "That damned Stone took them back there, to the night the Titanic went down!" There were several stunned seconds for the historian's conclusion to sink in. When it did, three sets of eyes widened in horror.

"Cassandra saw that stupid movie just the other day," said Ezekiel. "Maybe...maybe the Stone sensed that? Picked up on that memory…?"

Flynn snapped his fingers as his eyes bugged open wide.

"The Heart—it's a…a…kind of 'key'. To Time itself? Not a time machine, per se, but when Cassandra touched it and activated it, it opened a…a…a _portal_ between our time and the past? Maybe it read her memory, picked out that memory of the movie, like Jones said, picked up on the fact that it was tragic story, _full of sorrow_…"

"Great! Now we're getting somewhere!" Eve said, glad to have something to grasp hold of, however tenuous. "So how do we get them back?" Carsen shook his head weakly.

"We don't!" he answered bluntly. "We can't go back through Time and get them, we don't have a way of doing that anymore." He began pacing the room wildly, cursing.

"_Why_ didn't Jenkins take that thing and lock it up when he had the chance?! WHY!? And WHY did Cassandra touch it?! She _knew_ it was dangerous!" As he spoke he pounded the sides of his head with his fists in frustration.

"He wanted to," said Jake, suddenly guilt-stricken. "But I made him come help me with Jones." He slammed his fist hard onto the tabletop. "_Dammit_!"

"Jenkins _should've_ taken it to the Special Collections Vault the _second_ we came through the Back Door!" continued Flynn bitterly, still pacing frantically. "_Dammit_!"

Eve, pulled from her sense of shock by the need for someone to take leadership of the situation, stepped in front of her husband and grabbed both of his wrists. "Stop it, Flynn! And don't blame Jenkins or Cassandra for this!" She cast glance in Stone's direction as well.

"And it's not your fault, either, Jacob! We don't have time for finger-pointing; right now, we have to focus on figuring out how we can get them back!"

"Get them back?!" yelped Jones, still in disbelief over what he had just seen and heard. "How the hell do we get them back from a great, bloody sinking ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean? Oh, _and_ it's over 100 years in the _past_?"

"There has to be _something_ that we can do!" she said, unmoved. "You're all Librarians, you are all literally _always_ the smartest people in the room! If anyone can figure this out, it's you three!"

Baird's calm and confidence helped to settle Flynn down somewhat. "Eve's right," he said shakily, taking a breath. "There _has_ to be a way..."

"What about using one of the time machines?" asked Baird.

Flynn shook his head emphatically. "No, no time machines, Eve! They've all been disabled permanently, and there's no way to repair them. Besides, remember what happened the last time we had to use one? And _that_ machine was probably the last decently reliable one in the Library. We were _incredibly_ lucky to get back home from Shakespeare's time after it blew up!" Flynn paused a moment, a slightly uneasy look coming to his face.

"Besides, we still have to think of the Library, we have to think of our responsibility to it. Jenkins and Cassandra—they both knew the dangers of working for the Library…"

"I don't believe you, man!" shouted Jacob, startling the others, his blue eyes blazing. "_Screw the Library!_ We have to get Cassie and Jenkins back, no matter what! We can't just stand here and let them die alone out there in the middle of fucking nowhere!"

"Well, technically, since it's all in the past for us, it's a historical fact that the Titanic sank, so they've _already_ been dead for a hundred and seven years, so…" Eve shot the Librarian an evil look.

"FLYNN!"

Eve went to Jake and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.

"No one's going to just stand here and let them die, Stone," she said evenly. "We're going to do everything we can to get them back safe, I promise!" She ignored the tiny voice in the back of her head that insisted on reminding her that sometimes, soldiers simply die in combat. She wasn't ready to accept that hard fact of life herself right now, and she was horrified that Flynn could even think of writing off their friends so quickly.

"And don't forget, we're talking about Cassandra and Jenkins, here; a Librarian and a knight of the Round Table," the Guardian reminded all of them. "They'll be working to find a way out from their end, you can count on that! Jenkins is a soldier, which means he's a fighter, not to mention immortal. And he loves Cassandra more than anything else in the world; if they _are_ on that ship, he's going to make sure they survive that sinking!"

Ezekiel grunted excitedly as he suddenly thought of something. "Hey, that's right! Not everyone died on the Titanic! There were boatloads of survivors—Sorry, no pun intended," he said, shrugging sheepishly. "Anyway, there was something like seven hundred of them! Cass and Jenkins could've gotten off the ship in time!"

"Yes! Fantastic! Good pep talk, Eve, Jones; thank you!" said Carsen. He turned to the two young men. "Okay, Stone, first, take Jones to the infirmary and patch up his leg. Then both of you hit the books and find out the names of those survivors and what happened to them when they were rescued!"

"On it!" confirmed Jake eagerly as he went to help the limping Ezekiel to the Library's small infirmary.

He turned to Eve, his old self again now that he had something like a plan on which to focus his energies. "You and I will see if we can dig up any more information on that gem, check out the names of the Stones on that list Jenkins mentioned. We'll check out Crowley, too, I think. Let's see if we can find anything on him that might help us!" Baird took a quick, calming breath, glad to have kept panic from setting in and infecting her team.

"Right behind you, Librarian!" said Eve, anxious to get the search under way.


	3. The RMS Titanic, 1912

Jenkins snapped awake with a sharp gasp, and found himself shivering. He was vaguely aware of being in a prone position, on something very hard and uncomfortably cold. He felt frigid air rushing over his face, smelled the tang of salt in it, and instantly recognized it as sea air. And there was also noise, a great deal of it. Screaming, crying, shouting. The pounding of countless feet as they rushed past him. Names being called. Orders being given.

Dazed, he pushed himself up stiffly from the ground to a sitting position, his head throbbed. He looked around in confusion, saw that he was sitting on wooden flooring. No, not flooring, he realized; decking. All around him people wearing strange, old-fashioned clothing were running, holding each other, sobbing. He remembered suddenly that he had been with Cassandra and his head began to pound painfully. He twisted his stiff body, looking around wildly for the Librarian, but saw no sign of her. _Where was Cassandra_?

Jenkins stopped and took a deep breath to calm himself and rubbed his aching temples as he forced himself to think logically.

The decking he was sitting on—the decking of a ship? He was on a ship? _How_ did he get on a ship? And was Cassandra here, too? They _were_ in the Annex, Cassandra was looking at a necklace...

The memories instantly returned, sharpened to awful clarity, and Jenkins remembered it all: The Heart Stone! Cassandra tripped the Heart Stone! He looked around again at the people rushing past him, forcing himself to concentrate through the last vestiges of the fog in his brain. Their clothing—it wasn't modern. They were all wearing things that were long out of date. A hundred years out of date, at least. A hundred years ago it was…the Edwardian period. Jenkins felt a black pit open up inside of his gut. The clothing...the decking...the information Judson had been given about the Heart Stone being sent to New York. In 1912. On board the Titanic.

_No, it couldn't be!_

He clumsily scrambled to his feet. Hundreds of people milled chaotically around him, and he could almost taste their fear. Fear of his own seized his heart as he realized he could feel a distinct tilting in the decking beneath his feet and realized with alarm that it was true; he, and probably Cassandra, too, were aboard the Titanic, and the ship was already going down.

_Cassandra_. _I have to find Cassandra!_

He charged into the panicking mob of passengers, shouting the Librarian's name again and again. With each passing minute, he struggled to control his increasingly mounting panic. Cassandra could be _anywhere_ on the ship, but there simply was not time now to search the entire thing.

Desperate to find her, he climbed up onto the railing to get a better view of the crowds. Far ahead, he spotted a bright dot of yellow moving erratically amongst the dull browns, blacks and other subdued colors the passengers were wearing. His heart nearly stopped when he saw it: Cassandra! She'd been wearing a yellow sweater in the Annex! He jumped from the railing and ran as fast as he could towards the spot of color, mindlessly plowing through the jostling press of people. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally caught a glimpse of it again, much closer this time. He redoubled his efforts as he bellowed Cassandra's name over the din of voices around him.

At last, he saw her through a brief gap in the crowds—the yellow sweater, her red hair, her pale terrified face. He lunged for her.

"_Cassandra_!"

She turned at the sound of her name, caught sight of her husband struggling towards her. Her face crumpled in relief and she burst into tears as ran to meet Jenkins. She threw herself into his arms, and the two of them clung to each other tightly. Cassandra, wearing only the thin sweater and a blouse with her usual miniskirt, was shivering violently against him from the ice-cold air; Jenkins quickly stripped his suit coat off and draped it around her.

"Jenkins!" she gasped, her face still confused and frightened as she looked around. "Where are we? What's happening? How did we get here?" She continued to shiver as she unconsciously slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled the coat tightly around herself, grateful for the oversized wool garment.

"The Heart—Where is the Heart, Cassandra?" Jenkins asked urgently.

"Right here," she said, holding up her left hand. She still clutched the glimmering gem by its thick chain.

"Stop!" Jenkins barked. He dug a piece of paper from his trousers pocket—a list of books he had meant to look up later in the Library for a project he was working on. He quickly opened the folded paper and spread it over his hand. He gingerly took the gem from her, as though it were a venomous snake, and quickly dropped it onto the paper, then folded it as securely as he could to make certain that the gem couldn't fall out of it. He breathed a sigh of relief as he slipped the bundle into the inside breast pocket of the coat that Cassandra now wore. He then turned his attention to the trembling Librarian.

"Jenkins, what's going on? Where are we? Why is everyone so frightened?" she pleaded again, her voice betraying her fright and confusion. The Caretaker put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

"It appears that the Heart has sent us into the past, Cassandra," he said somberly. He hesitated, not wanting to say the words; he knew the visceral impact they would have, but he had no choice but to tell her the truth. "We... We're on board the Titanic."

Cassandra's eyes widened in horror as she suddenly recalled the Caretaker's lecture on the Heart Stone. She ran through the heedless crowds to the ship's railing, with Jenkins following closely behind her, trying fruitlessly to call her back. She reached the rail and looked over the side. A cry of dismay was torn from her throat as soon as she saw the black ocean far below, already dotted with several lifeboats and bodies floating in the water, held aloft by the old-fashioned life belts around their chests. She whirled around and stared at Jenkins with wide, terrified eyes.

"Oh, my God! Jenkins!" she rasped as she struggled to control her rising panic. "What are we going to do?!"

Before the tall man could answer, there was a violent shuddering beneath their feet. The ship groaned and tilted dramatically as the bow, rapidly filling with seawater, dipped sharply. Passengers screamed in fresh fear and panic. Cassandra, with a cry, threw herself into his arms again and clung to her husband tightly.

"We're going to die!" he barely heard her say in shock over the cacophony surrounding them.

"No!" the older man snapped. He tightened his arms around her in an attempt to reassure her. A plan was rapidly formulating itself in his mind.

"We're going to get through this, Cassandra! But we have to get to a lifeboat," he said with determination. Without waiting for a response from Cassandra, he grabbed the Librarian by her wrist and began to pull her forcibly through the crowds, gripping her so tightly that she cried out in pain.

"Jenkins! You're hurting me!" He ignored her and continued to relentlessly drag her behind him as he searched for an available lifeboat. All around them was complete chaos and despair. Men, women and children were crying in terror and dismay as they were either ripped from the arms of their loved ones or realized that they were marked for death. Distress rockets soared into the cold night sky and exploded, bathing everything in an eerie, hellish glow for a few moments before going out. Ship personnel were shouting commands and curses as they struggled to maintain some kind of order among the terrified passengers. Jenkins was sure he heard gunshots at one point over the noise. The whole time, the ship continued to sink nose-first, the deck tilting more and more steeply with each passing minute. Cassandra, doing her best to keep pace with Jenkins, could hear the crashing of furniture and glass coming from inside the ship as they moved along.

Jenkins also heard the noise of the ship as it self-destructed from within, and it spurred him to move even more quickly. He hauled the young woman behind him so roughly through the crowds now packing the deck that he nearly dislocated her shoulder, desperately searching for a lifeboat, but every set of davits they passed was already empty. Finally, to his immeasurable relief, he spotted a lifeboat that had not yet launched. He dragged the Librarian to the knot of frantic people clustered around it, then yanked her roughly around to stand in front of him.

"Cassandra, I need for you to listen very carefully to me," he commanded harshly, holding her face in his hands and staring her in the eyes to hold her attention. Cassandra began to tremble; there was something about his tone that terrified her.

"I have put the Heart Stone into the pocket of my coat." He dropped one hand just long enough to pat the pocket of the coat she was wearing to remind her where it was located.

"I want you to get into this lifeboat. If I remember history correctly, the ships Carpathia and Californian are already on their way here; they will arrive in a few hours to rescue the survivors in the lifeboats. They will take you directly to New York City. Once there, you must go _directly_ to the Metropolitan Public Library. Ask for Charlene—she'll be there. Or Judson, either one. Explain to them what's happened. They will take care of you."

Dread crushed her, making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone speak, as Cassandra shook her head slightly, confused. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

The Caretaker couldn't keep a stricken look from his eyes as he lightly brushed her cold cheek with his trembling fingers.

"There's no time to explain, Cassandra," he said, suddenly gentle. "I need for you to get into the lifeboat. Now. Please!"

The Librarian suddenly felt dizzy and her knees weakened as she realized what he was saying. "Jenkins! No! _NO_!"

She threw her arms around him and held onto him as tightly as she could. "I'm staying here with you!" she cried, tears coming to her eyes. "I'm not leaving you here!"

Her words and the love behind them cut him deeper than any blade, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep his hands on her shoulders. If he put his arms around her now, he would never be able to let her go, and right now his only desire was to get Cassandra to safety. Behind her, the sailors manning the lifeboat winches were given the order to lower it by the preternaturally calm officer in charge. As the crowds realized what was happening, raw, naked fear swept through the crowds still waiting on the deck. They wailed as one in sheer animal panic as their only means of survival swung out of reach on its davits and began to lower to water below. Jenkins closed his eyes for a moment and steeled himself for what had to be done.

He brutally pushed his sobbing wife away from himself and shook her harshly for a moment, then held her face in his hands again so he could look her in the eyes. He was careful to keep his own emotions under a pitiless control.

"Cassandra!" he yelled sharply, desperation still managing to creep into his voice. "_Listen to me_! You are a _Librarian_; you have a duty! You _must_ see that the Heart gets safely to the Library, so that nothing like this—" He swung one arm outward to indicate the chaos around them. "Can ever happen to anyone else! I'm immortal—I will be all right!" Cassandra was sobbing by now, shaking her head vehemently in denial.

"_NO_, Jenkins, _please_!" she cried. "Don't ask me to do this! I can't leave you here to die alone! I _won't_ leave you!" Her tears and pleas were ripping his heart to pieces inside of him. He _had_ to save her, _had_ to get her off of this doomed ship, but the knowledge of what he had to do in order to accomplish that was tearing his soul in two at the same time. He grabbed her thin shoulders and shook her again, close to breaking down and sobbing himself in his desperation to get her into the lifeboat, to save her life.

"I will be fine, Cassandra!" he repeated loudly, sternly, hoping he sounded confident enough to persuade her to cooperate. "But if you stay on this ship..." Jenkins couldn't pull it off, and his voice finally broke. Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of the fate that awaited his beloved Cassandra if he couldn't convince her to leave him behind.

"If you stay on this ship—if you go into the water—you _will_ die, Cassandra, and I _will_ not let that happen!" he raggedly choked out, two single tears rolling down his cheeks. Stunned, Cassandra gaped silently up at him, too numb with fear and shock to answer.

The deck by now was tilting so badly that it was becoming difficult to keep their footing. People all around them were now at a fever-pitch of terror and despair. His own fear was rising as well, but Jenkins didn't have the time to acknowledge it. He shoved it to the back of his mind, then bent and quickly swept Cassandra up into his arms. He forced his way through the crowds to the railing directly above the steadily-descending lifeboat. Jenkins lifted her over the rail and held Cassandra above the small boat. The ship's officer spotted him and ordered the sailors to stop Jenkins, but it took them time to fight their way through the mob of passengers. Realizing what he was about to do, Cassandra began to fight against his hold, trying desperately to get back onto the deck.

"NO, Jenkins! I won't leave you here! PLEASE! I won't leave you to die alone! _I WON'T LEAVE YOU_!" she screamed defiantly, pleadingly between sobs. Fighting back his own tears, he looked into her pale, grief-stricken face.

"Go to the Library and wait for me, Cassandra! I'll meet you there. I will find a way to meet you there," he said huskily. "I promise!"

Against his better judgement, he spent precious seconds to bend his head forward and kiss her quickly, but intensely. He could taste the salt of her tears on his lips as he lifted his head away from her.

"I love you, Cassandra, with all my heart," he whispered hoarsely as she shook her head and clutched the sleeves of his shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a pair of sailors, almost upon him. "And I always will."

Before the Librarian could respond or the sailors could stop him, he let go of her. His heart lurched painfully in his chest as he watched her eyes become round with disbelief and the instinctual fear of falling. She vainly, wildly clawed for a hold on his arms as she began to fall, but found none that would hold her. He felt his shirtsleeves rip at the shoulders, heard Cassandra scream as she fell the dozen feet or so to the lifeboat below. The women already in the lifeboat shrieked in panic and tried to scramble out of Cassandra's way, then screamed again when the small boat rocked precariously as it dangled from the cables holding it, its descent momentarily halted as the frantic sailors struggled to keep the vessel from capsizing and spilling its contents into the icy sea below.

During a seeming eternity of time, Jenkins held his breath as he watched as his wife land awkwardly in the boat, her fall broken by several of the screaming women. Cassandra felt her left ankle twist sharply beneath her as she landed and cried out as pain stabbed her ankle and ran up her leg. As soon as she was in the boat, she scrambled to sit upright, then stared up at the railing of the ocean liner looking for Jenkins. He was still there, staring forlornly back at her with dark, pain-filled eyes.

The immortal continued to watch from the railing as the lifeboat, now on an even keel again, slowly, painfully, continued its journey to the water. He raised his hand in silent farewell as he and Cassandra locked eyes.

"I love you," he mouthed, and she screamed it back to him. Each one kept their eyes on the other the whole time, continued to do so until the lifeboat, rowing feverishly away from the dying ship, was finally too far away for them to see each other anymore.


	4. The North Atlantic, 1912

Cassandra huddled inside of Jenkins's coat, too shocked to even cry. Her ankle throbbed painfully, but she barely felt it and paid no attention to it; the pain in her heart eclipsed everything else. She had kept her eyes on the tall, white-haired man for as long as she could while the lifeboat was lowered and then quickly rowed away from the Titanic, until she couldn't see him anymore. Even then she kept her eyes glued to the ship, hoping for just one more glimpse of him. The other women in the boat with her were either weeping for their own lost loved ones or were silenced by shock and horror of their own at what was happening to them, staring with glassy eyes at nothing.

The Librarian unconsciously shuddered against the cold night air, sick with grief. How could Jenkins have done this? How could he have just thrown her over the side like that? But she already knew the answers to her questions, deep down: He did it because he loved her. How many times had he told her that he loved her so much that he would die for her? More times than she could remember, and while they'd always felt good to hear, now that he had proven his sincerity with action, she felt nothing but empty and hollow. She thought briefly of throwing herself over the side of the lifeboat; if he had to die here, tonight, she wanted to die with him—at least then they could be together in the Afterlife. But she remembered the mutual promises they had made to each regarding suicide in such circumstances, and she knew Jenkins would be disappointed in her for making such a choice, so she dismissed it.

Besides, he told her that she a duty, she had to get this horrible, cursed Heart Stone to the safety of the Library; Jenkins was sacrificing himself so that she could do that, and she was determined not to let his sacrifice be in vain. Part of her loved him for his bravery, was proud to have a husband who was willing to literally die for her. And part of her was furious with him for the exact same reasons. She didn't know which side to choose, so she chose neither, simply huddled in the boat and looking for her lost love where she'd last seen him, hoping for one more glimpse of him.

Suddenly she felt something heavy and incredibly soft draped around her shoulders. Cassandra looked around and was surprised to see that it was long coat made of black velvet, with a wide collar of genuine mink. She turned around dazedly, and her watery eyes met those of an elderly woman in her seventies, magnificently dressed in the heavy silken gown and dazzling jewels she had been wearing for dinner that evening with the other First Class passengers. The woman said nothing, only looked at Cassandra with nothing but understanding kindness in her gray eyes tinged with sadness, and somehow, in this sea filled with misery and death, managed to offer the young woman an encouraging smile. Cassandra realized that the coat belonged to the old woman, and she began to remove it from her shoulders.

"I can't take this," she said weakly. "You need it." The woman shook her head.

"No, child," she said in a genteel patrician tone of voice that was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. "You have need of it far more than I." Her expression forbid any further protest.

"Thank you," whispered the younger woman numbly through her burning eyes, and returned the old woman's smile with a faint, mechanical one of her own. The woman gently brushed Cassandra's cold, wet cheek with the tips of her fingers before turning away and carefully returning to her seat.

Cassandra adjusted the coat so that it completely covered her body and bare legs, grateful for the extra protection from the cold. She kept staring towards the gigantic liner foundering in the distance. Nearby were several other lifeboats, all containing mostly women and children, a few men, all of them just as stunned and grief-stricken as she was at the moment. She watched as the bow of the liner sank lower and lower into the inky water, hearing the terrified screams and shouts of the passengers still trapped on board flying over the eerily calm surface of the sea. She also heard the sad, thin strains of music—stringed instruments, incredibly playing a slow, mournful hymn in the background.

As the nose of the ship disappeared beneath the surface with frightening speed, her fear was momentarily replaced by impotent horror as she watched the helpless people on board began to spill along the decking towards the water, many of them violently striking the railing and other fixed objects on the deck on their way into the water. Others clung to the rail or to anything else they could reach, the angle of the deck far too steep now for any kind of footing. A sharp, metallic screech shot suddenly across the surface of the water. Immediately following the dreadful sound, she saw the foremost funnel tilt over, slowly at first. As the guywires holding it in place snapped under the strain one by one, it finally crashed into the sea like a felled redwood, crushing the shrieking people caught beneath it and sending a large wave of water outward that threatened to swamp some of the closer lifeboats. Those who were unfortunate enough to be in the area of the gaping hole in the ship left by the toppled funnel were immediately sucked into the giant whirlpool created as the sea poured straight down into the engine room.

The sounds of heavy pieces of machinery below decks reached her next as they broke loose from their mountings and slid freely about, smashing through walls and taking with them anything or anyone that stood in their way. Cassandra watched with awe as the stern of the ship rose until it was completely clear of the waterline and steadily up into the air, the three massive propellers dripping sheets of icy seawater as they glinted dully in the dim lighting. There was a muffled explosion from deep within the belly of the doomed ocean liner. The lights blinked once, then went out, now leaving the area in almost total darkness.

Unfortunately, the outline of the hulking ship could still be clearly discerned in the brilliant starlight once Cassandra's eyes adjusted. The massive ship was now almost vertical in the water. It began to groan, a low, growling sound at first, like that of some huge beast in pain. It became louder and louder, punctuated by sharp, staccato snapping, then high-pitched screaming as steel tore and ripped apart. Numb, Cassandra saw a dark crevice appear down the side of the ship, between the third and fourth funnels, that steadily widened as the weight of the stern and the weight of the water-filled bow competed with one another, finally causing the liner to rend itself into two separate pieces. Within seconds of achieving its freedom, the bow portion slipped completely below the surface.

The stern half of the ship quickly settled back into the water and eerily floated there for a few moments, as though absolutely nothing was wrong. But as water rushed into the yawning wound and filled the interior, it again began to tip into the ocean. Minutes later, the stern also sank into the ink-black sea and disappeared from view as it rushed to join the bow on the floor of the Atlantic, three miles down.

Her hands covered her mouth in disbelief as Cassandra sat frozen, too shocked to react or to think as she watched huge liner disappear in front of her. Gradually she became aware of a different sound: It was the sound of people screaming. She realized that it was coming from the darkness, from the water—from the hundreds and hundreds of people floundering in the icy sea around them, held up by the bulky, cork-filled life belts. Hundreds of people screaming, crying, praying, begging for someone to help them, pleading for those in the lifeboats to save them. Was Jenkins one of those poor people? What if he was expecting her to come and save him, just as he had saved her? Cassandra looked around at the equally shocked women in the boat with her.

"We have to help them!" she cried. No one answered, only a couple of heads turned to stare blankly at her.

"_We have to help them_!" she screamed again, half-standing in agitation despite the pain from her injured ankle shooting up her leg warningly. She turned to the sailor who was manning the rudder of the lifeboat. "Please! My husband is out there! We have to find him! We have to help him! _Please_!" The sailor glared at her with dead eyes.

"Sit down, Miss," he ordered emotionlessly.

"_But we have to help them_!" she insisted. "My husband…!"

"_Everyone's_ husband is out there, Miss!" he snapped angrily. "And if we go back looking for them, we'll be swamped by them, they'll capsize the boat, and then we'll _all_ die! Is that what you want? Now, _sit down and be quiet_!" Cassandra dropped back onto her seat, numb.

"I don't want to die!" a woman from somewhere behind her shrieked, panic-stricken. "I don't want to die!" The Librarian heard another woman try to calm her down, and several others began crying again. Around them, the screams of the dying continued, but they were becoming weaker now, as every minute more people died in the water of hypothermia.

Cassandra cried out and clapped her cold hands over her ears and pressed her forehead to her knees as she tried to block out the awful sound, but it didn't work. All she could do was sit in the small boat, eyes shut tightly while she listened to the sickening sound slowly fade away into deafening silence as the hapless victims, one by one, succumbed to the bitterly cold water, until finally none was left alive.

Cassandra kept her head down and her eyes squeezed shut as everything that she had just seen and heard sank into her dazed mind. She could think of only one thing.

_Jenkins!_

* * *

As soon as the lifeboat carrying Cassandra to safety was out of sight, Jenkins began struggling towards the stern of the ship against the ever-steepening angle of the deck. He knew what was coming, but even though that knowledge gave him a slight edge for surviving this in one piece, it did nothing to assuage his fear. He remembered enough of the history of the disaster to know that the stern would be the last part of the ship to sink, and he wanted to delay going into the water for as long as possible.

It was a torturous climb, between negotiating the steep deck and trying to avoid being struck by loose debris and the unfortunate souls who had lost their footing and fell to their deaths into the icy water below. He could hear the roar and crash of heavy machinery within the ship as the various pieces broke loose from their mountings and slid towards the bow. He heard the shattering of furniture, dishes and glass mixed with the terrible screams of those passengers still inside the ship, trapped by the rapidly rising water. The immortal tried to block out the horrible sounds and concentrate only on getting as far onto the stern as possible.

The Titanic groaned and creaked as the water devoured it. An explosion boomed from deep within the ship, shaking it violently before the lights blinked out. The total darkness unleashed a fresh level of panic among those still alive. Wails of despair and mindless terror filled the April sky with renewed pathos. Jenkins continued to climb upward, exhausted muscles aching painfully as he literally raced against time.

Suddenly the noises coming from the ship changed. Jenkins risked a look back, and even the battle-hardened soldier was horrified by what he saw. The groaning and creaking turned into shrieks and booms as the water-logged stern began to rip itself away from the rest of the ship. Jenkins realized with something approaching sheer panic that he wasn't going to make it any further. As it was, he was barely on the stern side of the rapidly widening maw.

The immortal threaded his tall frame into the ship's railing and clutched the ice-cold steel with both hands in a death grip. His back was to the split, but he couldn't resist the urge to cast another glance behind him. He turned his head just in time to see the bow portion tear itself free with a final metallic roar and disappear with terrifying speed into the churning black waters of the Atlantic. The weight of the huge propellers pulled the stern portion back down to the water's surface, and for a few cruel moments it floated as normally and naturally as though nothing was amiss.

But Jenkins could clearly hear the water rushing into the gaping hole and could feel the water pulling the stern down into the sea. He took advantage of the few precious minutes left to let go of the railing and run as fast as he could toward the far end of the stern, weaving around all of the weeping souls clinging for dear life to whatever they could wrap their arms around; he had to put distance between him and the raw edge of the broken ship. When it became apparent that his time had finally run out, that he had to jump _now_, while he still had time to put distance between himself and the sinking stern, he turned sharply and quickly climbed over the railing. He looked at the water rushing towards him, and, taking a deep breath in preparation, launched himself as far out from the remains of the ship as he could.

The ice-cold water shocked him as it swallowed him. He struggled to orient himself in the black water, then kicked his feet furiously for what seemed like hours before he finally broke the surface and could suck in a lungful of fresh air. He began to swim wildly, his long arms and legs flailing in the roiling sea, gasping frantically for air even as the frigid water sucked it out of his lungs, his body feeling like it was being sliced by thousands of razor-sharp knives. He didn't care in which direction he went now, so long as it as far away from the stern as fast as possible. He was vaguely aware of people around him shouting and screaming in the water as they, too, dived in, the only resort left to them now, but he paid no attention. He focused only on swimming, making his arms, legs and lungs work despite the freezing cold water leeching the strength and air from his body.

Behind him, the stern once again tipped upward, the propellers soaring high into the air as the last piece of the Titanic stood almost perfectly perpendicular to the surface of the ocean. It hung there for a few moments, then, almost gracefully, it slipped into the water within a matter of seconds, disgorging a trail of debris and bodies in its wake as it flew to the ocean floor far below.

Jenkins didn't have time to spend watching the last part of this drama, however. He continued to swim as the freezing water rapidly sapped his strength, forcing his numbing arms and legs to work as he searched for something, _anything_, he could cling to in the water.

He cracked his head sharply against something hard as he swam. His stiff, cold hands felt along the object in the dark; it felt large and flat, perhaps a tabletop or a door. It was floating, and it appeared to be large enough to hold him up out of the water for the most part, and that's all he was concerned with at the moment. After a brief but energy-draining struggle, the exhausted, shivering man was able to haul himself onto the precious piece of wood. He lay there, gasping for breath and shaking violently as his body fought to generate heat. All around, he could hear the screams of the dying, begging the survivors in the lifeboats for help, some calling on God to save them, while others cursed the Divine for allowing this disaster to happen at all.

Jenkins looked around, but he could see nothing except the darkness and a few of the distant, bobbing lights of some of the lifeboats. Eventually the pleas faded, then ceased altogether as the unfortunate souls succumbed to the pitiless Atlantic, one by one. He fell back heavily onto his makeshift raft and looked up at the April sky, awash with impossibly bright, sparkling stars, breathtakingly beautiful against their deep blue-black velvet background. He closed his eyes, the cold and fatigue draining what little strength the immortal had left. He instinctively rolled onto his side and huddled against the chill night air, soaked to the skin, silently praying to all the gods he knew of, begging them to spare at least Cassandra's life and see her to safety.

Jenkins estimated that it must be nearing three o'clock in the morning by now. The Carpathia would be arriving soon; the Californian and other ships would be coming later. If everything went to plan, Cassandra would be safe in just a few hours, and that knowledge gave him the strength born of hope. He only had to hang on here just long enough for one of them to find and rescue him. Just a handful hours; surely an immortal could last out here that long, even in these killing conditions.

_But you're only semi-immortal_, a voice whispered mockingly from the back of his head. He'd been in the water for only a few minutes, fifteen or twenty at most, but he felt utterly spent, more tired than he had felt in centuries. He wanted only to close his eyes and sleep, but he fought the urge. _Hypothermia_, he reminded himself. He struggled to stay awake. He _had_ to stay awake, so that he could get the attention of the Carpathia when she arrived to rescue the other survivors.

But Jenkins simply didn't have the energy to fight off the killing cold any longer, to stop himself from slipping into unconsciousness. As his eyes closed, his last thought was of Cassandra, and how much he loved her.


	5. The RMS Carpathia, 1912

On the afternoon of April 15, 1912, Cassandra was hunched up on a cold, hard wooden deck chair, nearly buried in thick blankets as the RMS Carpathia steamed back towards New York City at breakneck speed. She, like almost all of the others who had been pulled from the Atlantic in the early morning hours, was silent. Shock and grief numbed them all far worse than the cold sea air that was now rushing over them on the deck.

The Carpathia was three days out from New York City, bound for the Austro-Hungarian Empire, when her wireless operator received the Titanic’s frantic distress signal. After a short period of hesitation, Captain Arthur Rostron gave the order to turn the Carpathia around and head with all speed to the Titanic’s last transmitted coordinates. His next order was for the entire ship’s company to go into action and make preparations to receive the survivors. The dining saloons and other public areas were quickly transformed into dormitories. There were three physicians on board, and all of them were assigned a station where they were to treat any injured victims. When they learned what was happening, Carpathia’s passengers were determined to lend a hand where they could; everyone on the ship was dedicated to doing their best to comfort and aid the survivors by giving them food, water, medical attention, blankets, and sympathy.

One young Irish woman, with lively green eyes and softly curling auburn hair, named Moira O’Sullivan, was a stewardess on the Carpathia. She was clustered with her fellow crew members and the passengers as the survivors of the Titanic were found and brought aboard in the pre-dawn hours of April 15. The ship’s crew had every blanket they could find waiting on the decks, along with huge pots full of hot broth, with bread, coffee and tea at the ready. The moment she heard the news that the first lifeboat of survivors had been sighted, Moira, like many others on board, hurried to the deck and waited, curious to see the arrivals, sensing that this was an historic moment. Everyone knew about the Titanic, everyone had heard the prideful boast that she could never be sunk. Now, on its maiden voyage no less, the unsinkable ship had done just that. The young woman crossed herself upon hearing the news; t’was Heaven’s own punishment for Mankind’s hubris, that what it was!

As the sun was creeping over the horizon line that morning, Moira spotted the flaming red hair of a small woman as she was hauled aboard, and Moira assumed she was a fellow Irishwoman. Everyone on board the Carpathia was moved to pity at the sight of the pale, shell-shocked survivor as she was brought aboard. 

Moira rushed forward and took the distraught, badly limping redhead under her wing. She hurried to bring her new charge a mug of hot tea soon as she was settled onto a deck chair and wrapped her up in a pair of warm wool blankets over the fancy fur-trimmed coat she was wearing. But the moment the bedraggled young woman took a sip of the tea, she cried out and threw the mug as far away from them as possible, then broke into racking sobs. As she put her arm around the weeping woman and tried to comfort her, Moira spotted the gold ring on the survivor’s left hand. She deduced that the poor creature had lost her husband in the disaster, a man she clearly loved. Moira’s kind heart was full of sympathy and sorrow for the thin redhead and her loss; Death was regular guest in every Irish home, after all. Knowing that words were useless at a time like this, the stewardess simply held the grieving young widow and comforted her as best she could, while the woman wept as though her very heart was breaking. 

* * *

When Moira and the other crew members had all 712 survivors safely on board and settled, the stewardess went to sit with the redheaded woman. After some gentle coaxing, she learned that the young widow’s name was Cassandra Cillian Jenkins (a good Irishwoman, after all, she was pleased to learn), and as soon as she learned of Cassandra’s injured ankle, she helped her to one of the stations set up by the doctors on board. The man carefully examined Cassandra’s ankle and leg, and pronounced with relief that it was not broken, only very badly sprained. He then gently wrapped her ankle tightly with a long bandage, ordered her to stay off of it as much as possible for the next few days, and gave her a stiff dose of laudanum for the pain. She barely noticed, though; all physical pain was now completely overshadowed by the pain in her heart.

Cassandra ignored the doctor’s instructions. The moment he was done with her, she began searching the ship for Jenkins, Moira by her side to help her walk. She asked everyone she met—survivors and passengers of the Carpathia alike—if they’d seen the tall, white-haired man, but no one knew anything about him. She begged officers and crew members for their help in finding him, the young Librarian growing more and more frantic by the hour. Finally, Moira intervened, and convinced Cassandra that she needed to stop and rest; they could look for her husband the next day. As they were hobbling slowly back to one of the dining saloons, it suddenly occurred to Cassandra that she hadn’t seen the elderly woman from her lifeboat, the one who had given her the long, fur-lined coat she was now wearing. 

Moira took Cassandra to her cabin and tried to get Cassandra to eat something, but the Librarian managed to take only a few spoonfuls of hot broth; she simply had no appetite. When Moira saw what Cassandra was wearing—a _shockingly_ short skirt that showed off nearly every inch of her legs—the Librarian’s new guardian hurried off to her small closet and pulled out her spare uniform dress for Cassandra to wear instead. Cassandra stared at the dress, then suddenly asked her new friend to go out and ask about old woman from the lifeboat, and find out where she was on the ship, in case she wanted her coat back. The reluctant stewardess made her guest promise to eat some more soup, then went out in search of the rich woman. She returned a little over an hour later, and Cassandra could tell by the look on her face that the kind woman had not made it. The old woman, too, had left her husband of forty-five years behind on the Titanic, and, according to the doctor had tended the old woman, she had simply given up. She gently explained to the bewildered Cassandra that that sometimes happened with couples who had been together for a long time. One dies, and the other is so lost without their mate that they simply—stop living. When she heard this, Cassandra wished mightily that she could just stop living right now, too.

Moira tried to take the man’s suit coat away in order to help Cassandra into the stewardess’s dress, but Cassandra cried out and snatched it out of the startled woman’s hands, quickly putting it back on and clutching it close. The Irishwoman apologized softly, sadly realizing that the coat was probably the only thing Cassandra had left of her own lost husband. After a great deal of patient coaxing and a promise that she could keep the man’s coat, Moira finally got Cassandra into the loaned dress.

Moira wasn’t the only self-appointed guardian of a Titanic survivor. Many passengers and crew unconsciously took it upon themselves to “adopt” as many of the unfortunate survivors as they could, personally taking care of them during the trip back to New York. As that first awful day turned to night, the kindly stewardess helped Cassandra into the make-shift bed she had set up in her quarters to accommodate her unexpected guest, urging the young American to get some sleep. Cassandra made no protests, and obediently curled up on the cot, but she couldn’t even begin to think of sleeping. Whenever she closed her eyes, she again felt Jenkins’s lips on hers one last time, again saw his face as he let go of her, his dark, sad eyes full of determination and tears. Or she saw the massive ship splitting in half, heard the metal screeching in protest, heard the cries of the dying as they flailed helplessly in the water, heard the awful silence that followed their deaths. 

That part was perhaps the most devastating for Cassandra, and it haunted her mercilessly. Had Jenkins been one of those poor people? Had he been one of those ghastly voices in the darkness, crying out for Cassandra to come and help him? Pleading with her with his last, dying breath to come to him, begging her to save him? Her head throbbed with pain and she rolled over to bury her face in the warm bedding on her cot—while Jenkins was probably still out there in the freezing cold, dying or already dead. 

And it was all _her_ fault! _Why_ had she touched that damned Stone?! 

All those people, dead. Hadn’t Jacob told her just a few days ago that over 1,200 people died that night? Jake told her, too, that many of those who died were steerage passengers trapped below decks; they never even had a chance to get to a lifeboat. The thought made her feel like vomiting. All those people, dead! Jenkins made sure _she_ made it to a lifeboat, but how many other wives had husbands who had tried to save them, but failed through no fault of their own? How many couples had gone down together? How many entire families? It seemed so unfair, and even though she knew intellectually that she wasn’t at fault for what happened that night, she still felt some sense of responsibility. The pain and weight of her guilt was more than she could bear, and Cassandra wished with all her might that she had refused to leave Jenkins, wished she had fought harder to stay by his side. Dying together would be so much more preferable to what she was feeling right now. _Why_ did Jenkins have to be so damn chivalrous all of the time!? 

Her tightly-clenched eyes ached as she thought of her knight. They had argued their last day together, and they never had a chance to reconcile, and that ate at Cassandra’s soul like a hungry rat. She shouldn’t have been so stubborn, she could’ve at least listened to what he had to say. All he wanted to do was protect her, keep her safe, just like he did on the Titanic. That’s _all_ Jenkins ever wanted, for her to be safe and happy. And she repaid his love and concern by fighting over a stupid, selfish wish to study magic that in all likelihood wasn’t meant for her to know in the first place. Now it was too late. She may never get the chance to correct her mistake.

Questions plagued her. Where was he now? Was Jenkins okay? Had he been rescued yet? Or was he still…_out there_? Was he at the bottom of the ocean? She shuddered miserably at the thought, buried her head deeper into the blankets as she whimpered softly, the horrible images of his staring, lifeless corpse lying in the blackness below flashing through her mind. Had he even been telling her the truth about being able to survive in this brutal cold? Had he lied to her, as a ploy to get her into the boat? Or perhaps, worse yet, he _had_ been telling the truth, and now he _was_ out there in the middle of the ocean, somehow still alive, alone, treading the freezing water, desperately looking for help that never comes, because he’s only one man in a vast, empty sea. No one expects to find a survivor after so many hours, so of course no one is looking for him. Does he just tread water now—forever? 

Cassandra curled into a ball beneath her blankets and began to cry softly. _Why_ didn’t he get into the boat with her? He looked like an old man, surely they would’ve made an exception for him? But at the same time she knew that even if they had offered him a place, he would’ve refused it. He could never in good conscience save himself at the possible cost of another’s life, he wouldn’t risk taking the rightful place of another. But so many had died, so many who never even made to the lifeboats, who had no chance of making it—couldn’t he have made an exception to that damned knight’s code just this one time? For her sake? 

She knew instantly that the answer was “no”, just as she knew, too, that if Jenkins had suspended his code of honor in order to escape certain death with her, she would’ve been disappointed in him, and she hated herself now for even wanting him to compromise his principles just for her benefit.

His final words echoed in her memory, how he told her that she had a duty as a Librarian to get the Heart Stone to the Library. Anger flared up inside of her. How could she think of duty now? How could she think of the Library while he was missing, while he was…_out there_? But again, she already knew the answers. Jenkins was right: She _was_ a Librarian, and he had spent considerable time drilling into her and the other “Librarians in Training” that the primary duty of a Librarian was to protect the entire world from dangerous magic like the Heart Stones, whatever the personal cost. As much as she loved Jenkins, she had known from the start that he was completely dedicated to the Library and its mission. He had fulfilled what he perceived was _his_ duty by getting her and Heart Stone safely off of the Titanic. Now she had to honor his last instructions by fulfilling _her_ duty. She had to put her own grief aside, at least for now, and see this hateful, unwanted mission through to its end.

* * *

**The North Atlantic, April 17, 1912**

Jenkins drifted slowly back into consciousness. He was aware of a gentle rocking motion, of small splashing sounds. He tried to open his eyes, and only managed to do so halfway, and with tremendous effort. All he could see were blurry shades of gray. He tried to move his arms and legs, but they refused to obey him. 

_It’s daylight, and I’m still at sea_, he thought with a dull, detached dismay. _I’ve missed the rescue ships._

How long had he been out here? And how much longer would he be floating out here on the Atlantic? Forever? How long could an immortal last out here, with no food, no water, no heat? He realized that he wasn’t feeling any cold; he couldn’t feel _anything_. He then realized with a vague sense of alarm that he was slowly freezing solid.

Cassandra! _Was Cassandra safe?_ She must be. She _had_ to be. History told him that everyone in the lifeboats was safely rescued by the Carpathia. She was probably in New York by now, sheltered and protected at the Library. Charlene, Judson, Mr. Dare—they would take care of her, they would see that she gets home again, somehow. That was the most important thing, that Cassandra was safe. Whatever fate befell him now, he could be at peace with it.

Oddly, his thoughts next went to their last argument, and he wished they’d been able to make up before all of this happened. He regretted having been so sharp with her, having been so stubborn. She was gifted with magic; he’d known that almost from the beginning. Everything he taught her, she soaked up like a sponge, comprehended it almost immediately. It was only natural for her to be pulled more deeply into magical things, for wanting to learn more, to learn as much as she could. Trying to deny her access to magic was like trying to deny a duck access to water. But magic was dangerous, and he feared for her. How many had he seen devoured by magic over the centuries, destroyed by it? He only meant to protect her.

Cassandra. Everything about her was amazing, but the most amazing thing about her was that that tiny, fey-like creature turned out to be his true love, someone who loved him without reservation and someone whom he could freely love in return—and he’d let things end on the bitter note of acrimony between them. Jenkins was suddenly overcome with a bone-deep sorrow, and despite the numbness of the bitter cold that pervaded him, he felt a sharp pain in his chest as he thought of his beloved Librarian. He was likely never see her again now—never touch her smooth, warm cheek, never hold her close or feel her naked body against his again, breathe in the heady scent of her hair, of her skin—apricots and honey. Never again would he see her bright blue eyes light up at the sight of him. He wondered if all of the Heart of Sorrow’s victims felt this way before they succumbed to its curse.

_The Heart of Sorrow; a cruelly apt name_, he thought bitterly. He summoned his last ounce of strength and focused it on their Sealing bond, closing his weary eyes as he sought to reach out to her. He found himself gritting his teeth with the effort. Just as he thought he wouldn’t be able to touch her soul, the tiniest spark of warmth glowed to life in his heart, a warmth that he instantly recognized: _Cassandra_! It was Cassandra’s soul! He could feel the pain of her grief, the pain of her guilt and self-recrimination, and it cut into his heart like a knife. But she was alive, and she was safe. 

He held onto that knowledge fiercely and tried to take comfort from it as he felt himself slipping back into oblivion. He again gathered his strength for one last effort to reach out to the one he loved most in the entire world.

_I will always love you, Cassandra! _

It was the last thought he had before the darkness enveloped him again.


	6. The Portland Annex, 2019

Jake Stone groaned as he slowly closed the large volume of bound newspapers and impatiently shoved it across the tabletop in disgust. The book slammed into another stack of books, sending all of them over the edge of the table and onto the floor.

"This is hopeless!" he yelled, his nerves frayed. "We've been at this for _hours_, and we don't know anything more now than when we did when we started!" Ezekiel closed his own book and slowly stood up to stretch his aching back, taking care to avoid putting his full weight on his injured leg.

"Yeah, tell me about it," he said, dejected. "We've been through every book, newspaper, accident report, interviews and Congressional hearing transcript for anything even remotely related to the Titanic, and for what? Absolutely nothing!" The young man dropped back into his chair with a grimace and looked at Stone.

"So what do we do now? We can't find _anything_ to prove—or disprove—that Cassandra and Jenkins were even on the Titanic. So what now?" he asked, waving his hands in frustration. Jake rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes and then his stubbled face.

"I dunno, man," he said glumly. "But there's gotta be _something'_ we can do! There's gotta be something' we're not thinkin' of, some resource we haven't checked yet. Dammit!" He slammed the tabletop in frustration.

"Yeah, well, maybe Baird and Carsen have found something we can use?" Jones offered faintly, his voice betraying his pessimism. Jake said nothing, only stared at some distant spot across the room. Ezekiel began playing idly with a pencil.

"It's not your fault, Stone," the thief said quietly, and while the rest of his body remained still, Jacob's eyes cut over sharply to stare at him.

"If this is anyone's fault, it's mine," Ezekiel continued. Jake snorted.

"How do you figure that?" he demanded. Jones shrugged and dropped his eyes.

"I missed the guard dogs in the security protocol," he said quietly. "I should've seen that. I should've looked for it. But I didn't. I got...cocky. I got careless. If I had paid closer attention, I never would've gotten bit. If I hadn't gotten bit, you all wouldn't have been distracted from securing that bloody gemstone." By the time he was finished speaking, Ezekiel's voice could barely be heard. Jake gazed at the repentant thief for a long time, long enough to cause Ezekiel to start squirming in discomfort before Jake finally spoke.

"Yeah, I reckon we both suck as far as being good Librarians goes," he growled. A lopsided smile came to Ezekiel's face.

"Yeah, but you have to admit—you suck _way_ more at it than I do!" Jake picked up a book and hurled at the Australian's head; Ezekiel ducked it easily.

"You know, there were a lot of people on that ship," Jones said, getting back to the business at hand. "And recordkeeping back in those days could be pretty sketchy. Maybe they were rescued and just, like, used fake names or something? Or maybe nobody even noticed them? There could be a bunch of reasons why we can't find anything on them in the records." Ezekiel didn't want to say aloud what he knew they were both thinking, so Stone did it.

"That disaster was one of the most well-documented events of the Twentieth Century," he said. "And we've looked at every single one of those documents, plus ones that only the Library has. Documents, pictures, interviews with survivors—everything! And we can't find _anything_ that even _hints_ that anyone saw or spoke to Cassie or Jenkins." He looked down at the tabletop, unable to look Ezekiel in the face.

"It could be that they just..."

"No! Just...don't even say it, Stone!" the thief cut him off sharply. "Don't even go there! You heard Baird—they would've found a way off that ship! Jenkins is immortal, and Cassandra's no slouch, either; they would've found a way out!" He threw the pencil on the table and stood up again, wincing in pain.

"I need a break before I try and do anything else, my eyes are fried and my leg is killing me. I'm gonna get a beer. You want one, mate?" he asked the somber historian. Stone sighed loudly and stood up.

"Yeah, I'll join ya. A beer sounds good right about now."

* * *

Deep in the Archives of the Library, Eve and Flynn were dealing with mounting frustrations of their own. They had gone through every single name on the Titanic's passenger manifest, even the names of the steerage passengers, but could not connect a single person in any way to Aleister Crowley or his cult. Theorizing then, that the Heart Stone was being sent to someone in New York by Crowley, they researched the names of possible targets in the United States and Canada, but again they came up empty-handed. Flynn tossed the latest book he had been studying onto the reading table and laid his forehead on the tabletop with hopeless thud.

"If it wasn't meant for someone in New York, that means it could've been meant for _anyone_ in the United States, or even Canada. In the world, for that matter! The Titanic was also a mail ship, after all, it was carrying letters and packages for the entire Northern Hemisphere," the Librarian said. "Or, knowing Crowley, it could have been meant for _no one_ in particular. Or, he may not have sent it at all, it may have been someone else just using his name! Or it could have all been just a hoax of some kind!" Flynn lightly beat his head against the tabletop in frustration.

"We _must_ be missing something! There must be another resource we haven't checked yet! Some angle we haven't thought of, yet!" he moaned.

"And that list of Stones Jenkins told us about is next to useless," complained Eve. "'The Heart of Unknowing', 'The Heart of Cowardice', 'The Heart of Confusion', the Heart of Eternal Darkness—what kind of stupid names are those?! They tell us nothing!" Eve slumped back into her chair, tiredly rubbing the temples of her aching head.

"There is a Heart of Sorrow on the list and that it's made of sapphire, though, so at least now we know that the list is probably accurate," she grumbled. She dropped her hands and looked over at Flynn. "Isn't there something in the Library we can use? Some artifact or spellbook or some other magical thingamajig that will tell us where they are. or even if they're just all right?" The Librarian shook his head.

"No, nothing," he said dismissively. "I've already gone through the entire inventory of the Library in my head and there's not a single thing that can do what we need it to do. We have artifacts that can locate specific magical objects or people with certain magic-related conditions, but nothing like a 'magical bloodhound' that can tell us where Jenkins or Cassandra are right now. And certainly nothing that works through Time itself."

Baird exhaled and slumped back into her chair. They had spent all day going through everything they could think of that might help them find their missing friends. They were scraping the bottom of the barrel now, and still no promising leads in sight. She reached out and stroked Flynn's arm reassuringly.

"We'll find them, Flynn, I know we will!" she declared. "And like I said earlier, even if we can't do anything from our end, I know Jenkins and Cassandra are working to find a way from their end. They'll find a way to get back, or to at least let us know that they're okay. We just have to have hope!"

Carsen raised his head and looked at Baird, his eyes tired and bleary. "Yeah, I know they would. If they survived."

"No!" snapped Eve fiercely. "You can't think like that, Flynn! They found a way off that ship, I know they did! We can't give up on them, not so soon!" He smiled weakly as he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Yeah, I know, sweetie; we'll find them. We'll find them and we'll bring them home, or die trying," he said. He stood up and tugged on her hand, pulling the Guardian to her feet. "Let's take a break, go get a beer. Come back fresh in an hour or two and start again." Eve smiled sadly and nodded, then swept her hand out in front of her.

"After you, Librarian."


	7. New York City, 1912

When the Carpathia landed in New York harbor on the evening of April 18, the docks were filled with people waiting for her. News reporters and photographers from newspapers all over the world; family and friends of the Titanic's passengers, all of them desperately hoping that their loved one was on board; city officials; sympathizers and mere curiosity seekers. The subdued docks turned to bedlam the moment the Carpathia was sighted, escorted into the harbor by the US Navy cruiser, USS Chester.

The Carpathia stopped first at Pier 59, the home pier of the White Star Line, the Titanic's owners. There she delivered the sad, unsettling cargo of thirteen empty lifeboats from the Titanic, all that Carpathia was able to carry.

Carpathia then moved on to her own Pier 54 and the many thousands of people awaiting her. Even in this dismal moment, class hierarchy was strictly adhered to as the Titanic's First and Second Class survivors were allowed to disembark first; Third Class passengers had to wait a further three hours, until midnight, before their entry paperwork was duly processed by immigration officials and they were finally allowed to leave the ship.

When Cassandra realized that she was going to have trouble explaining who she was and how she came to be on the Titanic, she turned to the only person she could ask for help, Moira O'Sullivan.

Thinking quickly despite her grief, Cassandra explained to her new friend that her and Jenkins's names were not on any manifests for the Titanic. She told the astounded stewardess that she and her husband were stowaways on the doomed ship, Americans desperate to get home, but with no money to buy even the cheapest Third Class berths. After abandoning the Titanic in such haste, Cassandra didn't have anything to prove her identity or her story. What was worse, the Librarian explained she had no family or friends in New York, nor, even, on the East Coast; her family was on the West Coast, and she didn't want to be detained or arrested by the authorities. Easily summoning some tears at just the right moment in her tale, Cassandra begged her new friend for her help. All Cassandra needed was help getting past the immigration officials and into the city; after that, she would take of herself.

Moira gave Cassandra a stern, disapproving look, and for a few heart-stopping seconds the Librarian thought Moira was going to turn her over to the port authorities. But Moira only shook her head and took Cassandra's hand in hers.

"You're in no condition to go gallivantin' off into a strange city as big as New York all alone and gimpin' as you are!" she scolded good naturedly. "You'll be comin' home with me and you're goin' to rest for a while, until your ankle heals up properly. _Then_ we'll talk about what you're to do next—and that's final!"

Cassandra tried to beg off such generosity, but Moira wouldn't hear a word of protest. She helped Cassandra get properly dressed and arranged her messy red mane into a hairdo appropriate for a young Edwardian woman. She then made arrangements for the pair of them to leave the ship as crew members. Passengers and other members of the crew were too tired and distracted by the excitement to pay much attention to them, and in the early-morning hours they slipped by the officials and the crowds still waiting on shore, virtually unnoticed. The one time they were challenged, Moira did all of the talking, telling the young officer with exaggerated mournfulness while dabbing her eyes that they were both stewardesses employed by the Cunard Line and assigned to the Carpathia. The man smiled and begged their pardon, expressed his sympathies for the terrible ordeal that such delicate ladies had to endure. He then tipped his hat and allowed the two women to leave, Moira quietly giggling in enjoyment of this new adventure.

* * *

True to her word, Moira took Cassandra to a women's boarding house where she stayed whenever she was in town. As soon as the other residents and the landlady heard that Cassandra was a Titanic survivor and that the thin, haggard woman had lost her husband in the awful disaster, everyone opened their hearts and wallets. By morning, Cassandra was shocked to find herself supplied with several dresses, a hat, gloves, camisoles and chemises, stockings, a hairbrush and comb, various types of hairpins—even a pair of properly-fitting shoes. The clothes were all hand-me-downs, and even though the other residents of the boarding house were not wealthy by any means, they were all more than happy to give whatever they could in aid to the young widow. The landlady provided her with a tiny room and three meals a day for as long as she stayed, and refused to even think of accepting anything in payment. Cassandra was completely overwhelmed by their generosity, and she made certain to personally, tearfully thank each and every woman for her kindness.

Somewhat less appreciated was Moira's and the other women's insistence that Cassandra stay put and rest and allow her ankle to heal, despite her protests that she was fine. She wanted to get to the Library, but she didn't want to arouse suspicion or alarm in any of the women; after all, how would the survivor of a disaster like the Titanic explain her overwhelming desire to go to a library, of all places?

The entire boarding house even went so far as to sit down and work out a schedule, with each woman taking a turn tending to the headstrong young woman by fussing over her, fetching and carrying for her so that she stayed off of her injured leg as much as possible, making sure that she ate and got some sleep every night. More importantly, they offered her sympathy and comfort and companionship in her mourning. They all shook their heads sadly over the fact that the young widow absolutely refused to be parted from her late husband's suit coat, wearing it over her dress every day, huddling into it and trying to hide her tears from them whenever her grief became too much to bear.

* * *

_Cassandra!_

She started awake at the sound of her name and sat up in the narrow bed, turned her head this way and that, her eyes roaming around the dark room for the source of the voice that had called her name. She saw no one in her room, and the door was still closed. _Only another dream_, she told herself glumly. She'd been having a lot of those lately. It seemed like every single night she was pulled from much-needed sleep by dreams of Jenkins or of that night on the ship; usually both. She lay down and began pulling the covers up.

_Cassandra!_

She bolted upright again, certain that she had heard it this time. With a shudder of instinctual fear, she recognized it as the same voice she had heard in the Annex, the whispering voice inside of her head that had drawn her toward the Heart Stone and started this whole awful misadventure.

A soft light caught the corner of her eye and Cassandra looked toward the chair at the foot of her bed. She could just make out Jenkins's coat, carefully hanging over the chair's back. She could see a dim bluish glow seeping out from the inside breast pocket of the coat, where Jenkins had placed the paper-wrapped gemstone for safekeeping.

_Cassandraaa!_

She heard its voice again, low and sibilant, and shuddered again. The voice sounded eerily similar to the voice of Kaa the Python in a movie version of "The Jungle Book" she had once seen as a child. She quickly drew her knees up to her chest and huddled behind them as she stared at the coat, her eyes wide with fright and her heart beginning to pound.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she whispered loudly, unable to take her eyes off of the faint light.

_I want to help you, Cassandra! _

"I don't want your help!" she whimpered back, her voice thin and scared. "Whoever or whatever you are, just go away! Please!" There was an quiet, evil-sounding chuckle from the Heart Stone.

_But I have sought for you over these many centuries, Mistress! I come to guide you to your true your destiny!_

"Wh-what do you mean? What destiny?" she asked, curious despite her fear. The Stone answered her eagerly.

_You already know what it is, Mistress: You are the Great Sorceress! You only lack the knowledge that you need in order to take your rightful place in the world! _

"The Great Sorceress?" the Librarian repeated, unable to take her eyes off of the glowing light. She couldn't even blink. She cried out softly as suddenly a vison from outside of herself forced its way to the forefront of her mind, a vision of herself dressed in red, jewels in her long, flowing hair. Her face was somber, her eyes fixed on something far away that only she could see. Cassandra felt the confidence and courage of this other version of herself, her wisdom beyond her years. Her _power_.

_Yes, Mistress! A sorceress greater than Morgan le Fey, a sorceress greater, even, than Merlin himself! Your Guardian has already seen it! _

"What are you?" Cassandra demanded huskily, her heart pounding. Her muscles of her taut legs and arms were beginning to ache, but she didn't dare to move.

_Do you not know me, Mistress?_

"You're the Heart of Sorrow," she replied guardedly, thinking this might be another of the Stone's tricks. The Stone's laughter reverberated throughout her mind.

_That is what I am called by the cowards and fools who fear me and the knowledge I carry! _

"But, in the Annex…when I took you from the box…" the Librarian began, confused, but the Stone harshly cut her off.

_You saw what you were told to see, Mistress! You were told to see only danger and death when you beheld me, and so that is what you believed! _

"But you sent Jenkins and me back to the Titanic to die! You tried to kill us!" she shot back, anger sparking to life within her.

_Forgive me, Mistress!_ the Stone whined in a much more unctuous tone._ I meant to take you, and only you, to another place, a place where we could speak freely and in privacy. But the male foolishly tried to interfere. In my—surprise—I meant to send only him to the ship, but he was touching you at the very moment I used my power to send him away; it is HIS fault that you ended up there as well!_

"He was trying to protect me!" said aloud, growing angrier by the minute. "He thought I was in danger!"

_He was your inferior!_ answered the gem dismissively._ He—and the others—fear the power of true Magic! It has always been so. The Library seeks to hide it away, hoping all knowledge of it will wither and die in the darkness of the Library's depths. You know that to be true, I know that you do! That fool, Crowley, sought to destroy me and the Magic I carry. He thought to bury me at the bottom of the sea…_

"Wait—_Aleister Crowley_ sank the Titanic?" Cassandra interrupted, stunned. "But…_how_?!"

_He sought to possess the Magic I carry in order to reinvigorate his so-called career as a sorcerer, but he was unworthy of it and I refused to impart it to him_, sniffed the Heart Stone in disgust._ He grew angry and petulant, like the mewling brat he was. He determined that if he could not possess the Magic, then no one would. He sent one of his underlings onto the ship with me, in an effort to put me out of the world's reach forever. He and the last of his debauched witches summoned the Spirits of the North and of the Sea. Even with their pathetic magic, they were able to order the Spirits to pull the iceberg into the path of the ship. Human arrogance and stupidity did the rest._

"But…all those people…!" Cassandra breathed in horror. "How could he sacrifice all of those innocent people? There were _children_ on board…!"

_As if he cared about such things, _the Stone said disdainfully_. And they are irrelevant, now, Mistress. They are gone; it is a waste of energy to think on them further._

"Jenkins isn't irrelevant! You took Jenkins! You took him and you killed him!" she accused, shaking her head, anger mixing with rising dread and fear in her chest. The gem laughed.

_He was afraid, Mistress! Of you. Of your Magic. His fear made him unworthy of you. He did not understand, only feared. He should have left you to me._ The Stone paused for a moment, as if considering something._ But, once you have mastered all magics, it will be a simple thing for you to bring him back if you wish it._

"It will?" she gasped softly, automatically seizing on the carelessly added tidbit of information. The gem glowed warmly.

_Yes, Mistress! _the Stone purred, exploiting her weakness_. You may bring them ALL back if that is your desire. I serve only those who have great Magic, and you are destined to be the greatest of all. Your time has come—it was fated for me to find you and to give you the knowledge of all magics! You will have command of Life and Death, Mistress; you will command the Elements, the Earth, the Stars, Time itself—everything that was, and is and will be will bend to YOUR will. All you must do to receive the Magic is to touch me!_

Intrigued despite the loathing and fear for the Heart Stone that now filled her, Cassandra lowered the blankets and crawled slowly to the foot of her bed. She reached out a trembling hand and slipped it into the pocket of Jenkins's coat, pulled out the gem. It lit the room like a lantern from within its paper prison. It glowed even more brightly in its eagerness to be free as Cassandra cupped it gingerly in both of her hands and stared at it. Could it be telling her the truth? Could she really be destined to be the greatest sorceress of all? Eve _had_ seen it in the other timeline at the Loom of Fate. In that reality, Cassandra _had_ mastered the art of "mathemagics", as she had come to call it. Could she truly do the same in _this_ timeline, too? And it _was_ true that Jenkins was really the only one actively stopping her from going any deeper into magic, keeping her from learning how it transformed into and worked with science. Maybe…

_Yes, Mistress! Remove the paper! Quickly! I must touch you directly in order to give you the Magic that is rightfully yours!_

She raised one hand. It hovered over the gem for a few moments, hesitant.

She winced and gasped, her free hand flying to her chest as an aching pain suddenly seized her heart. A series of scenes flashed through her mind—Their first night spent together after Jenkins shared the horrific story of his past; Cassandra on her wedding day, looking up into Jenkins's loving, tear-filled eyes; Cassandra being held tightly in Jenkins's arms and comforted after an especially hurtful visit with her parents; a mission debriefing where they secretly cast each other adoring looks across the table; helping the Caretaker in the lab, standing close to him and relishing the feeling of being so safe and loved at last; Jenkins, standing at the rail of a sinking ship, staring at her with eyes full of love and anguish as he let go of her. As he sacrificed his life for hers.

Her hesitation dragged on, and the jewel flared angrily with impatience, a flash of blue-white that caused Cassandra to blink, breaking the spell.

_Remove the barrier between us, Cassandra! Remove it NOW!_

The Librarian's eyes flashed with a determined fire of their own and hardened as she glared at the shrouded gem.

"NO!" she shouted angrily. With all of her strength, she threw the bundle away from her, and it landed with a sharp _thunk_ in the far corner of the room. Cassandra heard footsteps outside in the hallway, hurrying in her direction, followed by a rapid knocking on her door.

"Cassandra? Cassandra? Are you all right?" called Moira through the door. The knob turned and she opened the door, allowing lamplight from the hallway to spill into the small room. Cassandra curled her legs beneath her on the bed and squinted until her eyes adjusted.

"I'm all right, Moira," she said quietly, afraid of waking anyone else. "Just…just a bad dream, that's all." Moira made a sympathetic clucking sound.

"You poor thing!" she said. "Would you like a glass of warm milk, then? To help you fall back to sleep? Or maybe some nice hot chamomile tea?"

"No, no, I'm fine!" Cassandra answered quickly, shaking her head. "I'm sorry I woke you. I'll be all right, really."

"Nonsense!" reassured Moira, helping her friend back under the covers. "Think nothing of it at all! Would you like for me to stay with you until you go back to sleep?"

"No, that's okay," she said, forcing a smile to her lips. "But thank you!"

As soon as Moira shut the door behind her, Cassandra threw off the blankets and scrambled out of the bed, stopping only long enough to light the candle on her nightstand. As soon as her eyes were adjusted to the dim lighting, she hurried over to where she threw the Heart Stone and began feeling around along the floor and in the corner of the room. Her fingers brushed the hard, paper-wrapped package and she quickly snatched it up. She went back to the chair where Jenkins's coat hung, felt frantically for the deepest, most hidden pocket she could find, then stuffed the bundle into it. Next, she searched for the small carpetbag one of the women had given her. She plopped it onto her bed and jerked it open, then pulled the coat off of the chair and rolled it up tightly. She shoved the coat into the bag, buckled its leather straps tightly closed with trembling fingers. She carried the bag over to the tiny closet and threw the whole thing into it, slamming its door shut. She turned and ran back to her bed, the candle's flame fluttering and almost going out when she violently pulled the covers up over her legs. She huddled against the wall facing the closet, her eyes staring resolutely at the closet door.

She knew she would be getting no more sleep tonight; she pressed her lips together firmly and settled in to guard herself against the tempting voice of the Heart of Sorrow for the rest of the night, with only the dancing shadows caused by the faint candlelight to help keep her company.

Cassandra decided then and there that, first thing in the morning, she was going to the Library, one way or another.


	8. The Metropolitan Public Library, 1912

Early the next morning, Cassandra carefully climbed out of the omnibus and stepped onto the curbing outside of the Metropolitan Public Library. The long unwieldy dress and high-buttoned shoes, coupled with her still-healing ankle, made it difficult for her to walk normally. She looked up at the imposing façade of the building that secretly housed the Library; when she saw the familiar sleeping lions guarding the main entrance, the Librarian genuinely smiled for the first time since this entire nightmare began.

Moira was horrified when she learned that Cassandra was leaving the boarding house so soon, but when she saw how resolved Cassandra was to leave, she helped her to find the right omnibus that would take her directly to the Library; she even rode with her to make sure her friend arrived safely. Cassandra was very grateful for all of the Irishwoman's help, and she was actually a little sad to be leaving her now. As they approached their stop, the two women hugged each other good-bye.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Moira anxiously. "I can go inside with you if you like." Cassandra shook her head and gave her a quick smile.

"No, I'll be fine," she said reassuringly. "My husband used to know people who worked here; I called yesterday and they're still here. I'm sure they can help me get home." The half-truth came easily to Cassandra. She wished she could tell Moira the whole story, but she knew that was impossible.

As Cassandra stood up to get off of the omnibus, she felt Moira slip a small beaded drawstring purse into her hand. When Cassandra opened it, she found five dollars and some change—money she knew that the stewardess could ill-afford to just give away. Cassandra tried to refuse the money, but Moira insisted, scolding her cheerfully as she shooed the Librarian off of the omni while wishing her good luck. Once on the sidewalk, the Librarian blinked back tears as she waved goodbye to Moira O'Sullivan, until the omnibus turned the corner and was gone from view.

Cassandra dabbed her eyes and took a deep breath, then turned to face the Library again. A few yards away, a newsboy was waving the latest edition of a newspaper in the air and shouting the headlines regarding the sinking of the Titanic. Cassandra shuddered. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes as memories of Jenkins rushed to the forefront of her mind yet again. Stifling her emotions, she quickly picked up her skirt and her small carpetbag of donated possessions, Jenkins's suit coat folded over her arm, and hurried as fast as she could to the Library's entrance.

She climbed the stairs inside of the massive foyer, slowly and painfully, mindful of her injured ankle. When she reached the second-floor landing, she looked around her as she paused to catch her breath, wondering which way she should go to find Charlene. At one end of the landing she spied two burly, bouncer-like men standing at either end of a large, familiar bookshelf built into the wall. Guards, at the wall that hid the entrance to the Library—it was still here, in the same it was when she came to the Library in 2014! Cassandra hurried towards the men.

"Um…excuse me, please," she said uncertainly to the closest man. "I'm…I'm looking for Charlene; could you please tell me where I can find her?" The man stared stonily at her, but said nothing. Cassandra glanced nervously between the two huge men. She took a deep breath and stood up as straight and tall as she could, squared her shoulders and looked the first man in the eyes.

"You see…I'm a Librarian!" she declared, a tiny smile of pride involuntarily tugging at the corners of her mouth. The guard blinked, momentarily befuddled, then turned to look at the other equally bemused guard. He turned back to Cassandra and regarded her for a moment. Without a single word he tipped his hat, then went to the shelf of books beside him. He partially pulled out what appeared to be a random volume of Shakespeare, and the entire wall of shelving silently slid back to allow the young woman to enter the Library proper. She gave the men a shy smile as she slipped through the doorway and scurried away before the guards changed their minds.

She found herself in a large entryway made of white marble and frowned. She didn't remember this from 2014, when Flynn brought her, Ezekiel and Jacob to the Library for the first time. The space was empty except for what she realized was the entrance to the elevator that she knew would take her to the Library. Instead of the sleek, featureless stainless steel doors she was used to, however, the elevator of 1912 was made of up of mahogany and intricate wrought iron in the Belle Époque style. To her right was a huge set of unfamiliar doors of solid oak. A sign over the doorway read "Office of the Librarian". She turned and headed for the office doors.

Cassandra turned a heavy brass knob and pushed one of the doors open just enough to allow herself to slide inside. At the far end of the room was a second set of doors. In front of those was a large, old-fashioned desk made of heavily-carved dark walnut, its surface covered with a messy scattering of papers, receipts, ledger books, pens, pencils and an antique adding machine. A curious mixture of relief and anxiety surged within her as Cassandra recognized the woman sitting behind the desk.

"Charlene!"

The woman raised her head at the unexpected noise and stared in astonishment at the young redheaded woman now limping toward her. The former Guardian was wearing a long pencil skirt, a crisp white, long-sleeved blouse and a form-fitting vest that matched her skirt. Her long blonde hair was piled fashionably on top of her head, while on her nose perched a thick pair of nez-pince glasses with tortoiseshell frames.

"Charlene! Oh, my God, I'm so glad to see you again!" the stranger cried, and Charlene was alarmed to see tears coming to the woman's blue eyes. She stood up and hurried around her desk to meet this unexpected visitor, and was completely taken aback when the young woman threw her arms around Charlene and hugged her tightly, accidentally knocking the pince-nez glasses from the bridge of the older woman's nose.

"I…I'm sorry—have we met?" Charlene demanded bluntly as she grabbed the young woman's shoulders and gently pushed her back. "And just _how_ did you get in here?" The redheaded woman looked her in the eyes for a moment before dropping her gaze.

"We _have_ met—or, I guess I should say that we _will_ meet! In the future, in about a hundred years. My name's Cassandra, Cassandra Cillian Jenkins; I'm… I'm a Librarian!" Charlene gaped back, dumbfounded, then slowly cocked her head as her expression changed to one of askance.

"You're _the_ _Librarian_, from the future?" she repeated slowly, and Cassandra nodded.

"What year?" Charlene asked sharply.

"Um…2019?" Charlene's shoulders slumped slightly.

"Oh, _my_!" she said, almost to herself, giving the younger woman a disapproving look. "Oh, my word! You must certainly know, then, how dangerous time travel into the past is! It's not something to be undertaken lightly…!"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Cassandra blurted. "We were sent here, by an artifact! One of the Heart Stones." Charlene's face blanched at the mention of the Heart Stone.

"You said _'we'_," she said tightly. "There are others with you? How many?" She shook her head before Cassandra could answer. "Oh, this is _very_ bad! _Very_ bad"

"No, no! There's only the two of us—me and Jenkins!" Cassandra said quickly, shaking her own head in denial, trying to reassure Charlene. Instead, Charlene's mouth fell open, shocked.

"_Jenkins_?" she gasped. "Wait…" Her eyes widened as a realization dawned on her.

"You said your name was Cassandra _Jenkins_," she said, suddenly wary. Understanding what Charlene was getting at, Cassandra took a deep breath as she met the Guardian's gaze.

"Jenkins…is my husband," she said quickly. "We're married. _Sealed_, actually. By a Tree of Love that I planted in the Heart of the Library!" Charlene's shoulders dropped and all she could do was gawk at Cassandra for several seconds, speechless.

"Sealed!" she repeated slowly in amazement when she finally found her voice. She quickly glanced down at Cassandra's hand, saw the unique gold ring on her left hand. Charlene looked anxiously around the room past Cassandra. "Is he with you? Where is he?" Tears pooled instantly in the younger woman's eyes, and her lower lip began to tremble visibly as she dropped her head.

"He...he..." Cassandra stumbled over her words, and Charlene was startled to see large tears fall onto the floor at their feet.

"Cassandra?" she said urgently, softly, her heart beginning to pound in trepidation. "What is it? What's wrong? What's happened to Jenkins?" Cassandra dragged her head up to look at the Guardian.

"We were on the Titanic," she said, barely able to get the words out of her throat. Charlene's heart stopped in her chest.

"We were on the Titanic!" Cassandra repeated, more loudly this time. "He practically threw me into a lifeboat, but he wouldn't come with me! He…he stayed on the ship!" Cassandra fought to keep from breaking down again. Her grief was still raw and overwhelming, but she didn't have time to indulge it; she had to be strong now. She had to be a Librarian, she had to fulfill her duty and make sure his sacrifice wasn't in vain.

"I begged him to come with me, but he wouldn't do it. He went down with the ship," she said, her tiny voice trembling with emotion.

Charlene, flabbergasted, reached out her hands to numbly take one of Cassandra's as she tried to wrap her mind around this bizarre turn of events, and the appalling news about her old friend, Galahad.

* * *

An hour later, Charlene had Cassandra comfortably seated in the Card Catalog Room of the Library, a hot cup of chamomile tea in her hands. Cassandra sat in her chair, stiff and tense as she took in her surroundings. It looked exactly like the Annex workroom in Twenty-first Century Portland, minus Jenkins's globe mechanism for the Back Door. Things apparently never changed in the Library much unless it was absolutely necessary, not even its decor.

"Feeling better now, dear?" Charlene asked Cassandra gently as she handed her a cotton handkerchief. The Librarian took the cloth and smiled weakly, dabbing her eyes and nose with it.

"Yes, thank you," she murmured, then took a perfunctory sip of her tea. She noticed the Blue Willow pattern of the teacup and its saucer; Jenkins's favorite set of china was the Blue Willow. Cassandra's face crumpled for a moment at the memory as she fought down her grief.

"I'm sorry!" she whispered, setting the cup down quickly with a clatter and blotting the tears from her reddened eyes again. "I just can't stop thinking about Jenkins. About how he..." Charlene reached out both of her hands and took Cassandra's in them.

"It's perfectly understandable," she said in a calm tone. She squeezed Cassandra's hands to get her attention. As soon as the Librarian looked up, the immortal looked directly into her eyes.

"I want you to tell me _exactly_ what happened, Cassandra," she said firmly. "I want you to tell me everything, from the beginning. How did you get here? How did you and Jenkins find yourselves on board the Titanic? What exactly did Jenkins do on the ship? What did he say? What did you see? What...?"

"No! I can't!" cried Cassandra, yanking her hands out of Charlene's. "I can't! I don't want to! I don't want to remember any of it! I don't want to think about it right now—I don't want to think about it ever again!" The Guardian leaned forward and took Cassandra's face between her hands and forced her to meet her gaze.

"You _must_!" Charlene said inflexibly. She hated to cause the young woman any more pain, but it couldn't be helped. "We don't have time for grief right now, I'm sorry! But if we're to have any hope of finding Jenkins, you _must_ tell me everything that's happened. We've lost enough time as it is!" Cassandra stopped whimpering and looked at the older woman.

"Rescue him?" she whispered, staring at Charlene in utter disbelief. "What do you mean?

"Exactly what I said!" Charlene barked, impatience making her unintentionally harsh. "We might still be able to find Jenkins and rescue him! Mr. Dare and his Guardian are away on a mission right now, but I've already sent word to Judson. He's on his way, but I need for you to concentrate and tell me, now, exactly what happened to you and Jenkins so I can fill him in the moment he arrives; then we can begin making plans. Now, _please_, Cassandra—tell me what happened!"

Shocked by the possibility of seeing Jenkins again after having resigned herself to his loss, Cassandra quickly began to tell Charlene the story, starting with the Clippings Book and what it had told them about the mysterious Heart Stone. Charlene listened closely as the words spilled from Cassandra's mouth, interrupting the Librarian's tale only occasionally with a question for clarification. Not sure if she should say anything just yet about her "conversation" with the Heart Stone the previous night, Cassandra ended her story with her arrival at the boarding house. When the Librarian was finished, the Guardian sat back in her chair, her mind spinning. After several moments, she suddenly noticed how tired and worn-out the young woman looked, took note of her ill-fitting clothes. She also noticed for the first time what appeared to be a man's suit coat, folded and resting on a carpetbag at Cassandra's feet.

"Is that his coat?" she asked, nodding slightly. Cassandra looked down at the precious memento and nodded. She picked it up and slipped a shaking hand into the breast pocket, pulled out a small bundle wrapped in paper. She looked up at Charlene as she held it out to her.

"Here; this is the Heart Stone. It said that it's called the Heart of Sorrow." Charlene's eyes flicked up to meet Cassandra's.

"It…_spoke_ to you?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine fear. Cassandra nodded her head, suddenly filled with fear by the Guardian's reaction.

"Yes…twice," she confessed in the end. "The first time in the Annex, and then again in the boarding house, just last night." She shuddered slightly at the memory. Charlene reached out and gripped Cassandra's forearm painfully.

"Tell me exactly what it said to you," she commanded sharply. "Every single word!" Cassandra, alarmed now, haltingly repeated for Charlene everything that the Stone said to her and how Cassandra had responded to it. When she was finished, she grimaced as she glanced down at the Stone still clutched in Charlene's hand.

"I decided last night that I couldn't wait any longer to come to the Library." She said. "Jenkins said to give you to you or Judson. He said you would know what to do with it."

Charlene placed the bundle on the table and opened it, taking care not to touch the deadly Stone inside. It glittered almost angrily within the paper, and she thought she could hear a very faint whispering sound in her ears as her eyes beheld it. Cassandra heard it, too, except instead of hearing only a faint whispering sound, she heard the full-throated curses howled by the infuriated gemstone. She cried out, covering her ears with her hands and shutting her eyes tightly. The Guardian instantly covered the Stone again. She got up and hurried across the room to a cabinet and pulled out a box out of one of the drawers.

"The Heart of Sorrow, my Aunt Fanny!" she muttered angrily, stiffly shaking her head as she quickly stuffed the Stone into the box and snapped it shut, then returned to her chair. She reached out and took one of Cassandra's hands, letting her know that she was safe now from the influence of the Stone.

"I don't know which Heart Stone this one is, but it _is_ right about one thing, Cassandra," she said to the young woman. "You must be an exceptional Librarian, indeed, to not only be able to intercept a Heart Stone, but to survive having direct contact with it as well!"

"Not really. I wasn't even on the mission to get it out of the exhibit," Cassandra demurred faintly. Charlene then put her hand on the young Librarian's shoulder.

"I'll take care of this, don't worry," she said, holding up the box and trying to smile reassuringly, but she unable to completely hide her concern. The Guardian needed time to think, so she changed the subject.

"You must be exhausted after staying up all night, and hungry, too!" she exclaimed brightly. "Come with me—we'll get you something to eat and then I'll show you to a room where you can rest for a while. We have some time before we hear from Judson, so we might as well take advantage of it. I'll see if I can find you some clothes that actually fit you, too."

Cassandra took Charlene's hand again and was happy to let the Guardian lead her to the Library's kitchen; she wasn't feeling the least bit hungry right now, but she dutifully ate a tiny portion of the food Charlene set out for her—some cold, roasted chicken and a salad. When she was finished eating, the Guardian escorted her to a guest room. As they walked along the corridor, Cassandra suddenly stopped, and Charlene turned to look at her questioningly.

"This will probably sound silly to you, but…when you're done doing whatever it is you're going to do with the Heart?" she began hesitatingly in a thin, quavering voice, her watery blue eyes flicking toward the box in Charlene's hand. "Could I have the paper back? Please? It's…it's Jenkins's, it has his handwriting on it, and…I…" Charlene reached out and took her hand again. She squeezed it gently.

"Of course, dear," Charlene said kindly, and they continued down the hall.

* * *

Cassandra managed to steal only a couple hours' worth of sleep before she flew upright in her bed and screamed herself awake from the nightmare she was having. It took her several moments before she realized that she hadn't really caught a glimpse of Jenkins in the pitch-blackness of the deep Atlantic, his broken body lying helpless in the cold mud of the sea floor, his pleading eyes wide and terrified, screaming soundlessly in eternal agony as the pressure of the ocean depths slowly crushed him.

Cassandra gulped in deep breaths of air as she looked around at the guest room, heavily-decorated in the Edwardian style. Knowing she would never be able to go back to sleep now, she climbed shakily out of the small bed and.

There was a large, roughly oval-shaped tub made of copper in the room, one end higher than the other. Cassandra noticed steam rising from the tub, and cautiously went over to investigate. When she saw that the tub was only full of hot water, she suddenly recognized the object as a bathtub, the old-fashioned kind that she had seen in old movies and television shows. Nearby was a small stool with two large white towels draped over it and a bar of soap perched on top of them. There was also a small bottle made of amber-colored glass next to the soap. Cassandra picked it up and read the label: _"Mulsified Cocoanut Oil Shampoo. Two or three teaspoonfuls will cleanse the hair and scalp thoroughly. Simply moisten the hair with water and rub it in."_

"That sounds kind of scary," she muttered as she set the bottle down. Cassandra tested the water and found the temperature perfect.

"Might as well," she said to herself and she began to strip off the long, thin chemise she had worn to bed. She dropped it to the floor and climbed gingerly into the tub. Once in the water, she leaned back against the high backrest and closed her eyes for a moment, letting the soothing hot water soak into her grimy-feeling skin and let her thoughts wander.

It seemed like forever since she'd last bathed, though it had only been a couple of days. As she soaked, her thoughts inevitably drifted to the night on board the Titanic, and her eyes instantly began to burn, her throat began to close. She could remember everything that passed between her and Jenkins that night as though it happened only an hour ago—the look on his face, the urgency in his voice, the feel of his arms around her, his final kiss.

Suddenly, all of the grief, confusion, anger and fear that seemed to never leave her became overwhelming. She drew her knees up and propped her elbows on them, then buried her face in the crooks of her arms. She broke into sobs, loud and ragged, weeping so hard at times that she physically gagged. After about twenty minutes, the storm began to weaken. Cassandra sat up, splashed water over her face. She was startled to find that the water was still just as hot as when she'd first stepped into the bath. _Magic_, she thought dully. She heaved several deep, cleansing breaths, and reached over to pick up the bar of soap.

When she was finally finished with her bath, Cassandra stepped out of the tub and dried herself, wrapping one of the towels around her wet hair while she dressed. She put on the clothes that Charlene had laid out for her before she went to bed: A long skirt of lightweight, mustard-yellow corduroy with a short matching jacket, a starched, long-sleeved blouse of snowy white, and black, high-topped shoes, along with several pieces of undergarments. She was grateful now that she had paid attention to Moira when the incredulous Irishwoman had had to show Cassandra how to wear them correctly. Cassandra was able to dress herself fairly easily; it helped considerably that she skipped many of the redundant layers of undergarments, especially the corset. Wearing one for Jenkins during a romantic evening was one thing, but they were definitely not for every day. She caught herself and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as she forced herself to not cry again, to focus on the present. The determined Librarian raised her head and squared her shoulders, then grabbed the buttonhook, distracting herself with the task of doing up the buttons on her shoes correctly, as Moira had shown her.

When she was finally finished dressing, Cassandra went to check out the results in the long mirror standing in the corner of the small room. She was rather pleased with her efforts. These clothes fit her much better than the donated clothes she'd worn the day before, as if they'd been tailor-made just for her. She quickly combed out her damp hair, then swept it up into a messy bun, pinned it into place. She didn't see any cosmetics in the room, which brought a slight frown to her smooth face. There was nothing she could do about that for the time being, so Cassandra took a final look in the mirror, then left the room to go in search of Charlene.

Cassandra found her in the Card Catalog Room, and opened her mouth to greet her, but stopped short when she saw a short, balding man chatting with the Guardian. He looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies and was neatly dressed in a dark, tailored three-piece suit. As soon as they heard her enter the room, both of them turned to face her. The elderly man stepped forward, his hand extended, a warm, slightly bashful smile on his face. His expression reminded Cassandra of a Bassett hound.

"Ah! You…you must be Cassandra!" he said quietly, curiously stumbling over the words in a way that led her to believe that this was his natural speech pattern rather than shyness. "W-welcome to the Library! My name…my name is Judson."


	9. The CS Mackay-Bennett, 1912

The CS Mackay-Bennett, a trans-Atlantic cable repair ship out of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada was the first ship contracted by the White Star Line for the grim task of recovering the bodies of the dead from the North Atlantic following the sinking of the Titanic. It took two frenzied days for the Mackay-Bennett to be outfitted with the supplies she would need for her work: One hundred plain wooden coffins; every drop of embalming fluid to be had in Halifax, enough for seventy bodies; one hundred tons of ice with which to pack the recovered corpses for the trip back to Halifax; hundreds of canvas bags and tarps; and twelve tons of grate iron—28-pound iron bars that would be used as weights for burials at sea. The Mackay-Bennett also carried extra personnel on this trip, Canon Kenneth Cameron Hind of Halifax's All Saints Cathedral to conduct the services for the burials at sea; and Mr. John R. Snow, Jr., the chief embalmer with the firm of John Snow and Company, Nova Scotia's largest funeral services provider. He was hired by the White Star Line to oversee the embalming arrangements on board the Mackay-Bennett.

By April 17, the Mackay-Bennet was ready. She sailed from Halifax in heavy weather, and it took her four days to arrive at the wreck site. At eight o'clock on the night of April 21, she finally slowed to a halt. The ship's captain, a grizzled old seaman by the name of Ladner, gave orders to let the ship drift overnight. During the early hours of April 18, a few pieces of wreckage and only several bodies were sighted by the men on watch. At dawn, however, the captain and crew were greeted by a horrific sight: Dotting the waves like seagulls were hundreds of bodies, each held afloat by their lift belts, their hair and exposed skin quickly bleaching to white by the constant exposure to salt and direct sunlight they had been subjected to over the last several days. Their arms were outstretched and many of their heads were fallen back, staring with open mouths as if screaming curses at Heaven itself. It was a vision of hell that no one aboard the Mackay-Bennett would forget for the rest of their lives.

The shaken captain ordered the ship's compliment of life boats into the water. The five-man recovery crews in each boat were instructed to row into the wreck site to search for and collect any and all bodies of the Titanic's unfortunate souls. It soon became clear to the horrified captain that they were going to need help in the recovery effort after the first boat returned in a surprisingly short time, loaded down with bodies; there were simply too many out there for one ship to handle. The White Star officials were notified and more ships were dispatched, but it would be several days before they would arrive.

In the meantime, the Mackay-Bennett did what she could. It was a somber, harrowing experience for the crew of the cable ship. Pale, frozen bodies were everywhere in the water, cold and silent, many of them with faces and bodies that were gruesomely damaged in the sinking itself when they were thrown against stanchions and spars on the deck of the Titanic. One of the most unnerving aspects of the recovery was the fact that, in stark contrast to the terror they must have felt in the last few moments of their lives, some of the corpses bore serene, peaceful looks on their faces; when dragged into the boats, however, the bodies were found to be in varying states of decomposition on the parts that had been submerged beneath the surface of the water. The most heart-wrenching recovery was that of the body of small child no more than two years old.

It wasn't long before the grisly work began to take its toll. Captain Ladner quickly realized that they didn't have nearly enough coffins or embalming materials for all of the bodies they were bringing in, and since Canadian law forbade ships with unembalmed bodies from entering the country's ports, the captain had to make a hard decision. The merciless class system under which these poor men, women and children had died would now be imposed upon them in death. Those bodies identified as First Class passengers would be embalmed and placed in coffins. Second Class passengers would be embalmed and stored in the rough canvas sacks. Third Class passengers and Titanic crew members would simply be wrapped in canvas with a piece of the grate iron and returned to the clutches of the cold, dark sea that had taken their lives.

Mr. Snow, the mortician, and his helpers were quickly overwhelmed. After a corpse was hauled aboard, but before the embalming process even began, it was examined closely for anything that would help in identifying it. A detailed physical description was meticulously recorded; clothing and personal possessions were removed and carefully cataloged, then stored away in a canvas bag to be returned to family members later on. It was grueling, emotional, time-consuming work. Soon, the already cramped decks were covered in waist-high stacks of canvas-wrapped bundles.

The moon-faced Canon Hinds was also overwhelmed by the sheer number of bodies that had to be blessed and buried at sea. It wasn't long before he simply had to stop looking at their faces, stop thinking of them as individuals with families and friends waiting anxiously for word of them. His ministrations quickly became mechanical and numb as, over and over again, he repeated the words, "And so we commend this body to the deep..."

* * *

On the seventh day of what was supposed to be a fourteen-day mission, Captain Ladner decided they'd had enough. All of the one hundred coffins were full, there was no more embalming fluid, and they were almost out of canvas, yet his men continued to find bodies. The Mackay-Bennett could normally carry a complement of two hundred people on board; they were now loaded down with one hundred ninety bodies, plus the crew, and they couldn't take on any more. Everyone on the ship was numb and exhausted and just wanted the nightmare to end.

Word came at last that the cable ship CS Minia would be arriving soon at the wreck site, and the captain gratefully gave the order: As soon as the last recovery boat returned, they would cease their recovery efforts and await the Minia's arrival.

* * *

Seaman Michael Riordan sat in the fore section of the life boat, his tired eyes scanning the ocean in front of him dully, searching for any sign of bodies. He and his companions shivered inside their heavy wool coats as the small boat carefully nosed its way amongst the debris and chunks of ice floating in the water. There were two bodies already in the boat, both of them men. They were found floating face-down, and were now covered with a tarpaulin to hide their ruined, rotting faces. As the men behind him rowed, Riordan had a start as he spied a small face in the water drawing closer with each stroke of the oars. The Canadian crossed himself, dreading having to pull another child out of the water. He sighed with relief when he could finally see clearly that the face belonged not to a child, but only to a partially-submerged wooden sculpture of a cherub. Riordan stared at it as it slid by the boat, its angelic smile looking more like a demonic leer in the late afternoon light.

"That's it, then, boys," he called over his shoulder. "It'll be dark soon. Turn her about and let's head back—I can't take no more t'day!" His shipmates, all too eager to end the day's terrible work, eagerly began to turn the life boat. As the bow swung about, Riordan caught sight of what looked like another body in the distance. His heart filled with dread, and he almost kept silent. But then he imagined the family of the poor, unfortunate sod, waiting at home for any word of their loved one, and he simply couldn't turn away.

"Hey!" he shouted to his men and pointed to port. "Over there! Another one!" Riordan could feel the tension return to the small boat, but no one said anything. They all signed on willingly for this duty, for good pay, and even though no once had expected _this_ level of horror, they were determined to see it through.

As the boat drew closer, Riordan readied a boathook. He could see now that the body—another man—was lying on what looked like an overturned table or desk of some kind. The unfortunate soul was on his side in a curled, fetal-like position. When they were close enough, the sailor stretched the hook out and snagged an upright table leg and pulled it toward the boat.

"Here, lads—lend a hand! This one's a six-footer if he's an inch; must be a Yank!" The other four sailors shipped their oars and clambered forward to help Riordan pull the corpse into the boat. The sailor noted the white hair coated with sea salt, the slightly weathered features of the man's face. He looked to be in his seventies. The Canadian was surprised to see no sign of the decomposition or damage that all of the others corpses so far recovered had. Perhaps that was because he'd somehow managed to stay out of the water and relatively dry. Riordan shook his head. _Poor bloody bastard_, he thought. _To live so long, only to have it all end like this_.

They carefully laid the stiff, ice-cold body next to the other two and pulled the tarp over them. "All right, then, lads," said Riordan quietly. "Let's bring them home."

* * *

By the time they returned to the Mackay-Bennett it was going on full darkness.

Crewmen on the ship helped bring the three recovered bodies on board and laid them out on stretchers. Riordan climbed up to the deck, followed by the oarsmen. He followed the deckhands as they carried the bodies to the rear of the ship where the undertaker had set up his equipment. Mr. Snow was sitting on an overturned wooden crate, smoking a pipe and staring vacantly at some distant point on the horizon. There were large dark rings of exhaustion under his eyes. He turned lethargically to the men when he heard them approach.

"Sorry, Mr. Snow," Riordan said, tugging his forelock in respectful greeting. "We found three more. But at least this'll be the last of 'em for us. Minia will fetch out the rest." Snow lifted the blanket on the first corpse, a young man in his twenties wearing the uniform of ship's steward.

"Burial at sea," Snow muttered. He moved on the next body, that of an older man perhaps in his early fifties. He was wearing a common man's rough cotton clothes, brown trousers and white, collarless shirt. His feet were bare.

"Steerage. Burial at sea," he repeated dully. He went to the third stretcher and raised the blanket. And old man, much taller than was common for this day and age, probably an American or a Canadian, possibly a Dutchman. In his old age he was still powerfully built. This man, like many of the others, had a serene expression on his face, as though he were merely asleep. The undertaker's eye fell on the clothes the corpse was still wearing. Shirtsleeves, torn at the shoulder seam, but fixed at the cuffs with gold cufflinks, a waistcoat and trousers, but all of fine material. Snow bent over to more closely examine the bright red bowtie, then reached out to lightly rub the fabric between his fingers. Pure silk. Snow stood up straight and replaced the blanket over the man's face.

_First Class_, he thought, his shoulders slumping with dejection. He was under orders to bring back all First Class passengers that were recovered, but even after skimping on the amount of embalming fluid he used for each body in an attempt to make it last as long as possible, he still had long ago run out of it, and now he was out of coffins as well. He was seriously tempted to declare the man a member of the Second or Third Class, order him buried at sea and be done with him. Snow was tired—so very tired—of death at the moment. Then he remembered Riordan standing next to him. The sailor had seen the man, too, could clearly see that he wasn't a steerage passenger a member of the crew. Snow sighed heavily, resigned. It was probably a good thing that the sailor was present; it kept Snow honest, kept him from doing anything he might later come to regret. He turned toward the silent Canadian.

"Riordan, go below and call my assistants, please."

* * *

Snow and his men spent the next several hours preparing the bodies. Each man was closely examined for any marks on their bodies—birthmarks, tattoos, scars—that might aid in identifying them later. Their clothing was carefully noted and described, then removed and searched for personal effects or papers. These items and the clothing were then placed into individual bags and given a number to match the one assigned to the bodies. The personal items would be sent to the men's families if identification could be made after they reached Halifax. The only items Snow found in the pockets of the old man were a few American coins, a gold fountain pen, a white cotton handkerchief with the initial "J" embroidered in one corner. Oddly, he also found a second kerchief, this one of brightly-colored silk, green and blue paisleys bordered with pink. A miniscule, sad smile came to him as he carefully folded the silk square and placed it into the canvas bags of effects. The undertaker has seen such baffling items before in his line of work, and he knew instantly that something that garish could only be a treasured keepsake of a loved one.

The bodies were next wrapped and bound into canvas sacks brought on board for this purpose. Early the next morning, the Reverend Hind conducted the last burial services for the remaining Third Class passengers and the members of the Titanic's crew that had been recovered. The body of the old man and his bag of possessions were taken to the rear cable box of the ship and stored there with the other First Class passengers for the long trip back to Halifax. Since Snow had run out of embalming fluid, the body was only packed in ice. Though he was breaking the law, he hoped that the port officials wouldn't notice one unemblamed body, or if they did, that they would be moved by mercy to allow it entry in view of the tragic circumstances.

* * *

Once it became known that the White Star Line had chartered Halifax ships to recover the Titanic's dead, families and friends of the deceased began flooding into the small seaside town, all of them hoping against hope to recover their loved ones, or of at least learning of their ultimate fates. Halifax dressed itself with black in mourning in honor of the tragedy. Hotels and boarding houses were soon overflowing with distraught people, most of them coming up from New York City by train or ferry.

Undertakers and ambulance drivers came from the surrounding areas to help with the processing of the deceased, bringing with them all the embalming materials they could lay their hands on. Volunteers with the Canadian Red Cross also arrived in Halifax to be on hand to help with consoling the bereaved and to help them navigate through the awful process of identifying their loved ones and getting them sent home for burial.

Finally, on the evening of April 30, the anxiously-awaited Mackay-Bennett finally dragged into the harbor of Halifax. Tugboats hurried out to meet her and to tow her further inland to her berth. She had recovered a total of three hundred and six bodies, but only carried one hundred ninety of them into Halifax; the rest had been buried at sea, either because of their station on life or because the corpses were too badly decomposed to survive the voyage home. The moment watchers on shore spotted her, the press, townspeople and mourners began lining the approach to catch a glimpse. The somber crowds watched quietly as the ship slid by them, her decks covered with the canvas-shrouded corpses that wouldn't fit into the holds. The bells of the churches and firehouses throughout the town began to ring solemnly at one-minute intervals in mournful tribute to the dead.

The morgue ship slipped into her berth and dropped anchor. A gangplank, completely screened with canvas to prevent prying eyes from seeing anything, was brought forward and put into place. More canvas screens were set up to protect the dignity of the proceedings. Horse-drawn hearses began to line up on the dock, while undertakers, waiting anxiously next to a huge pile of wooden coffins, began to lay them out and remove their lids in preparation to receive the bodies as quickly and efficiently as possible. At the main entrance to the dockyard, the locked gates held back the anxious families and newspapermen who had gathered there.

Within ten minutes of docking, the unloading of the grim cargo began. The work was done with dispatch, but with as much decorum and respect as could be mustered by those handling the bodies. Just a few hours ago, nervous morticians had been playfully skipping rope to release some of the tension, but now there was no laughing or joking; voices were low and quiet, the men focused intently on their work. Those bodies that weren't placed into a coffin on board the ship were placed in a coffin on shore, still encased in their canvas bags, and then loaded into a waiting hearse.

The horses were whipped into motion and urged to take their loads as fast as decently possible to the temporary morgue set up in the ice rink used by the Mayflower Curling Club; it was the only building in Halifax that was large and cold enough to house the dead safely while they were being re-embalmed and made presentable before family and friends could be permitted to view them. A few of the bodies—those of John Jacob Astor and other high-ranking First Class passengers who were identified on board the Mackay-Bennett—were taken to a funeral parlor to be worked on privately. The rest were taken to the ice rink. Once there, the coffins were laid out in neat rows on the ice, and the undertakers began the sad and difficult work of racing against the clock to preserve as best they could the steadily decomposing bodies.

* * *

One of the first to be unloaded was the large and heavy canvas-shrouded bundle containing the unidentified body of a very tall old man. The undertaker who took charge of him carefully forced the curled, stiff limbs and body to straighten so that he could be laid out in the box. He was terrified for a moment that that poor soul wouldn't fit in the plain box of pinewood that was serving as a coffin, and he was greatly relieved when he was finally able to finagle the canvas-wrapped body into the box and get its lid into proper place. The bag containing the man's clothing and possessions was placed reverently on top of his coffin before the doors of the hearse were closed tight. The undertaker then signaled the driver, who whipped the nervously-pawing horses into motion.

They rushed across town, hooves and wheels clattering loudly. As they passed people on the streets, a few stopped to gaze stonily at the hearse. Men removed their hats as a sign of respect, a few crossed themselves and muttered a quiet prayer that the soul of the deceased would rest in peace. Most of the citizens of Halifax, however, ignored the gruesome caravan of hearses as they hurried to and fro across the city, preferring to tend to their own business and leave the dead and their families in peace.

The black hearse arrived at the rink and was instantly greeted by attendants. They carefully unloaded the coffin and the bag and carried them into the building. Handwritten copies of the list of victims and their descriptions made on the Mackay-Bennett had been rushed to the ice rink the moment the ship docked so that officials there could keep track of each body as it arrived. A city clerk stood at the door with a clipboard, glanced at the large black numbers stenciled on the bag and scrawled across the coffin's lid to make sure they matched, then checked the list of names on his board. He frowned, then peered more closely at the numbers before checking his list again. One hundred ninety-one. There was no such number on his list. He sighed heavily as he looked up from the board.

"This one's not on the list," he stated flatly. The driver looked back blankly for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't know nuthin' about that," he replied laconically. "I seen him come off the ship, though, with my own two eyes." The clerk frowned again and scratched the back of his neck as he tried to think. He _hated_ being around anything that had to do with death. It was bad enough that he had been called out and forced to be here in the first place instead of at home having dinner with his family; he didn't need clerical foul-ups on top of everything else.

"Stupid sailors," the clerk concluded irritably. Outside he could hear the arrival of more hearses as they clattered to a stop; how many more errors would there be tonight? The unsympathetic clerk sighed; he just didn't have time for this, not now. He stepped over to the coffin and opened the lid, then untied the canvas bag that shrouded the face of the body inside. He pulled the thick cloth back to look at the face of the man inside the box for a moment, then put the canvas back into place and replaced the lid. He next opened the bag of personal effects and quickly scanned the list of its contents made on board the Mackay-Bennett and placed inside the bag. He shoved the inventory back into the bag and set it back on top of the coffin.

"Right, then—put him over here for the time being," he ordered the driver, nodding to a place not far from the entrance to the ice rink. "We'll just have to sort it out later."

While the driver pulled the heavy pine coffin over the ice to the place indicated, the clerk took up his pencil and quickly scribbled at the end of the list on his clipboard: "No. 191—Unknown white male, elderly, First Class".

Immediately forgetting the annoying mistake, he turned to the doorway and impatiently waved in the next driver standing there waiting for him.

"Next!" he yelled sharply. "Step lively, we don't have all night!"


	10. The Metropolitan Public Library, 1912

It took several minutes for Cassandra to get over the shock of meeting Judson—_the_ Judson!—the First Librarian, also known as Yehuda the Scholar, the very Founder of the Library itself. Judson had passed from this plane of existence long before Cassandra became a Librarian, so she only knew of him through the stories Flynn was always telling about him. Jenkins rarely spoke of Judson, and when he did there was always a tinge of distaste in his voice. The elder Librarian's portrait hung in a place of honor in the Library, of course, and Cassandra had often studied it over the years. In the painting, Judson looked kind, with just a twinkle of mischief sparkling in his wise, dove-gray eyes. She hoped now that the portrait and Flynn hadn't misled her.

Charlene brought out a large silver tray of tea and small finger sandwiches. The Guardian looked virtually unchanged from how Cassandra remembered her, except in the way she was dressed. She wore a long, fawn-colored wool skirt today, a long-sleeved, cream-colored blouse with a high wing-tipped collar with a long rust-colored necktie, its end tucked into a snug-fitting vest of chocolate brown. Her long, blonde and gray hair was pulled up into a bun from which several loose strands were trying to escape. The nez-pince glasses hung from a silk cord around her neck.

All three sat down at one end of the familiar long work table, and after Charlene poured tea for everyone, Cassandra repeated her story for the both of them. Judson and Charlene listened to her raptly, forgetting their cooling cups of tea, showing no reaction except the quick, alarmed glance they exchanged the moment Cassandra mentioned the Heart Stone. When she reached the part about her parting with Jenkins aboard the Titanic, her voice broke and she had to turn away from them for a moment, struggling to keep herself from crying. Charlene started to get up to comfort her, but the interruption was brief. Cassandra quickly pulled herself together and turned back to them to finish her tale. She noticed the nervous glances her audience traded with each other when she came to the night when the Heart of Sorrow told her about her destiny and tried to entice her to touch the gem again.

"The next morning I gathered my things and I came straight to the Library, just like Jenkins told me to," she finished. "He said he would come here for me, the minute he reaches New York." Judson exchanged another look with Charlene, then reached across the table to lay his hand on top of Cassandra's.

"Cassandra," he began softly, then paused, picking his next words carefully. "I understand that...that you want to have hope..." The young woman snatched her hand away from his and stared at him, her eyes suddenly full of anger.

"NO!" she said fiercely, jumping up from the table. "NO! Don't say it! He's going to come for me; he promised! And Jenkins _always_ keeps his promises!" She backed away from the table, wringing her hands unconsciously as she struggled not to cry. She turned her back to them and quickly crossed the room to where Jenkins's desk stood, its surface neat and tidy, just the way he liked it. She laid her hands on its warm, polished surface, the only physical contact she had with her missing knight now.

Judson watched her thoughtfully for a moment, then stood up from the table to follow her. Charlene also started to get up, but he held out his hand to stay her. The Librarian walked quietly over to Cassandra, stopped a few paces away from her and cleared his throat nervously. She kept her back to him as he spoke.

"C-Cassandra, I'm... I'm sorry," he said clumsily, bringing his hands forward to clasp them together. "I didn't mean to upset you." He took a couple of steps closer and fell silent for several seconds.

"You...you said that...you and Jenkins were...m-married," he continued, still stunned by that particular bit of news. Cassandra nodded, but didn't speak. Encouraged, Judson drew closer.

"You must be a...a very special woman to have...to have captured the heart of _that_ cantankerous old goat," the Librarian said deadpan. Cassandra whirled around to stare in disbelief at him, not sure that he'd actually said the words she heard. Catching the impish gleam in his eyes, the same as she'd seen in his portrait so many times, Cassandra smiled despite herself and looked down sheepishly at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Judson," she said. "I didn't mean to yell at you like that. I'm just worried about Jenkins, that's all, and..." Her voice cracked and she stopped speaking, afraid that she would lose all control of her emotions if she did, and she blinked furiously against the tears that wanted to fall. Seeing all of this, Judson closed the gap between them, reached out and took her hands.

"I see...I see a Sealing ring," he commented, lifting her left hand slightly higher so that the light glinted off of the gold ring on her finger, shaking his head slightly. "I...I haven't seen one of these in...well...not in ages. Who...who planted the Tree?"

"I did," she whispered, keeping her gaze fixed firmly now on the ring.

"How long ago?"

"It's been a little over a year, now."

"Long enough, then, for you to...to be able to at least partially utilize the Tree's magic," said Judson, squeezing her fingers gently. "What are you feeling now, Cassandra? From...from Jenkins, I mean."

Ever since the lifeboat had carried her away from the sinking Titanic, Cassandra had resisted using the magic of the Tree of Love she had planted for her and Jenkins. If her immortal husband had somehow died, she didn't want to know that. If he was alive, but trapped forever at the bottom of the ocean, in some kind of hellish suspension between life and death and suffering horribly, she didn't want to know that, either. Since her rescue by the Carpathia, she'd consciously blocked the magic that permanently bound their two souls together. If he was anything other than alive and well, she knew she would go insane with grief and guilt.

"I don't know if I can," she said apprehensively.

"I really think that you should...that you should try, Cassandra," Judson urged gently. "You won't know any kind of peace until you do."

"Will it even work now?" Cassandra asked nervously. "I mean, _right now_, in this point in time, our Tree hasn't even been planted yet..."

"I'm certain Jenkins explained that the binding that...that comes from a Tree of Love...it knows no boundaries. Not...not even those of Time. You're still Sealed. The binding is still…still intact."

Cassandra finally looked up at the Librarian, a fluttering of hope stirring in her heart. She saw only genuine concern and kindness in Judson's eyes. While they were speaking, Charlene had quietly gotten up from the table and was now standing just behind him. Her eyes, also, were full of nothing but sympathy and support.

"Do you really think he might be all right?" she asked, barely able to form the words and get them past the hard lump that was now in her throat. The Librarian smiled shyly and squeezed her hands again.

"One...one thing I know about Jenkins," he said, his tone only slightly teasing. "He's...he's even more stubborn than he is...than he is cantankerous!" Cassandra choked out a half-laugh, half-sob.

"We also need to know what's going on with him, in case...in case he needs our help, Cassandra, while there's still time," he continued, more seriously. "And only you can tell us that." Cassandra looked between the Librarian and the Guardian, then made her decision to trust them. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her hands still in Judson's.

When she at last allowed her mind and heart to open, it was like the opening of floodgates. The magic of the Tree instantly poured into her, almost overwhelming her in her worn-down, stressed state. Feelings, both hers and Jenkins's, whirled inside of her like a maelstrom—confusion; terror; dismay; tremendous sadness; intoxicating, unbreakable love. Suddenly, through the fierce whirlpool of emotions she was feeling, Cassandra felt more than heard a small, quiet voice, as if coming from the opposite side of the universe.

_I will always love you, Cassandra!_

"NO!" Cassandra cried loudly, her fingers painfully clenching around Judson's, her face twisting with despair, her eyes still shut tightly. "JENKINS! NO!"

"Stay with it, Cassandra!" commanded Judson, no trace of a stutter in his speech now. "Stay with it!"

Whimpering with fear, unable to resist the powerful emotions now that she had allowed them entry, Cassandra obeyed. She squeezed her eyelids even more tightly as she let the final waves of emotion Jenkins had felt wash over her. She felt his fear, his uncertainty, his regret. She felt his panic and shock, felt the heaviness of his heart as he came to feel that he had somehow failed her. She felt his final, desperate attempt to assure her of his undying love for her, felt again his words of farewell.

Cassandra's knees threatened to buckle beneath her, her pounding heart felt as though it was about to shatter into a million pieces—was he really gone?! How could he be dead?! Her Jenkins, her immortal knight, who'd always been so afraid of outliving _her_—How could _he_ be gone now?

The young Librarian was about to let go of Judson and finally give in to her grief when she unexpectedly felt something else—a tiny, tender strand of something reaching for her soul out of the maelstrom like a new green tendril toward the sun. Her brow wrinkled and she frowned as she strained to get a fix on what it was, exactly. It definitely came from Jenkins, but it didn't feel like any particular emotion. The only word she could describe it with was that she felt..._Life_.

Jenkins's life.

Cassandra's eyes flew open and she dropped hard to her knees. She began to scream again, this time with joy.

"He's alive, Mr. Judson! _He's alive_! I can feel it!" she said shrilly, tears pooling in her eyes and spilling over her cheeks. "I can feel his life! Or his life energy, or life force, or whatever it's called, I don't know—but I can _feel_ it!"

She threw her arms around the startled old Librarian's legs and held him tightly as she burst into tears and sobbed uncontrollably. He awkwardly raised his arms to hold her comfortingly, gently patting her back as he spoke soothingly. Charlene rushed forward to kneel next to Cassandra and put her arms around the Librarian, holding Cassandra as she cried out the last several days' worth of horror, grief and fear.

* * *

Charlene made a fresh pot of tea and brought it to the Card Catalog Room. This time Cassandra eagerly took the proffered cup of hot, aromatic oolong and sipped it appreciatively. Her mood was much improved now, almost giddy, and hopeful now that she knew for certain that Jenkins was still alive. The long crying jag had also helped her tremendously; since she no longer had to try and hide her emotions and could openly express them, she felt free and unburdened. She perched on the edge of her chair, the bone china cup clutched in her hands while she, Charlene and Judson discussed what the next move should be.

"Mr. Dare is out of the country at the moment," said Judson after setting his tea down on its saucer. "He's...he's in Africa right now, searching for King Solomon's Mines. It's...it's his fourth attempt, and I honestly doubt he'll find them this time. I'm starting to think that...that the Mines truly are just a myth. Anyway, he's...incommunicado at the moment, he and his...his Guardian." Cassandra had to bite her tongue, hard, in order to not to tell the Librarian about how Flynn Carsen would one day find the fabled Mines of Solomon.

The Clippings Book suddenly fluttered to life on its stand. Charlene set her cup down and hurried over, scanned its pages; her mouth became a thin, tight line as she read.

"What does it say?" asked Cassandra anxiously. The former Guardian looked up from the large book and walked slowly back to the table where the others were sitting.

"The day after the sinking, the newspapers reported that the White Star Line hired a Canadian ship, the Mackay-Bennett, to go out to the site of the wreck—"

"To look for survivors!" the young Librarian interjected excitedly, sloshing tea as she clumsily set her cup on the table. Her eyes glistened with hope. "They found Jenkins and...!"

"_No_, Cassandra," Charlene cut her off brusquely. Her expression and voice softened as she continued. "They...they were hired to recover the bodies of those who died. The Clippings Book says now that the MacKay-Bennett returned to Halifax this evening." Charlene paused a moment, not wanting to say what needed to be said. "They found no survivors, dear." Tears filled Cassandra's eyes.

"But...he's _alive_!" she protested. "I know he is! I felt it! And I bet he's on that ship! Why would the Clippings Book tell you about that ship if he wasn't on it?" Charlene reached out to lay a reassuring hand on Cassandra's forearm while turning her head to look at Judson.

"He _is_ immortal," the Guardian said to him firmly. "He may merely be incapacitated in some way, but he may very well have survived the sinking itself! And if this recovery ship found him in the ocean amongst the other bodies..."

"They...they would simply assume he's...he's just another victim," finished the Librarian thoughtfully, absently rubbing his jaw. "They...they wouldn't even check to see if...if he was still alive. A person in the ocean this time of year would...would die of exposure within minutes." He looked up at Charlene.

"How...how many bodies is that ship carrying?"

"One hundred and ninety, according the newspaper report," answered Charlene grimly. "The Clippings Book also says that another ship was dispatched to take over the recovery efforts after the Mackay-Bennett was full."

"But the Clippings Book is bringing _this_ one to our attention. What are...what are officials doing with the bodies now?"

"They've set up a makeshift morgue at an ice rink. The families are being directed to go there to try and identify their loved ones," she replied. Judson lightly slapped the tabletop with one hand as he stood up quickly from his chair.

"Book me a train ticket to Halifax, please, Charlene," he instructed briskly, all business now. "The first one you can find leaving New York. We simply can't wait for Dare. I'll...I'll go myself and try to find Jenkins." Charlene nodded and hurried from the room to make the arrangements.

"I'm going, too!" exclaimed Cassandra, popping up from her chair. Judson held up his hand and shook his balding head.

"I'm afraid not," he said forcefully. Cassandra was stunned into silence for a few moments before she was able to open her mouth to protest.

"Yes, I _am_!" she snapped, indignation already building within her. "He's my husband, and I'm _not_ just going to stay here while..."

"Yes, you _will_!" Judson asserted, his face suddenly stern, even a little frightening. "Remember, you are here from the future, Cassandra; that makes you exceedingly dangerous! You're dangerous enough here within the confines of the Library as it is, and who knows what will be the result of your time at the boarding house! If I allowed you to outside of the Library again, to mix with the general populace, the consequences could be dire!" Cassandra stopped cold at his words. She'd almost forgotten that she and Jenkins were not supposed to be here.

"The timeline," she murmured in realization. "I can't go outside of the Library because I might accidentally do or say something that could irrevocably change _this_ timeline and, in turn, change the future that we came from."

"Precisely," confirmed Judson, more kindly this time. "The less anyone in this present time knows about the future—Charlene and myself included—the better. We simply cannot know our futures, it's...it's far too dangerous. _This_ timeline—yours and Jenkins's—_must_ remain absolutely unchanged and intact if you're to find the same future that you left behind when you return to it."

"I really hate time travel!" Cassandra groaned, letting her head fall back in frustration for a moment. It snapped up again as a memory came back to her.

"Wait...I thought it was impossible to travel forward in time?" she questioned the Librarian. "Flynn says traveling backwards in time is easy, but the only way to travel _forward_ is by taking the long way, i.e., simply wait in the past until you catch up with your own future...?"

"Flynn?" Judson asked quizzically. Realizing that this 'Flynn' was someone from the future, he immediately waved his hands at her in negation. "No, don't tell me! This is...this is _exactly_ what I'm talking about! I cannot know who this person is, otherwise it may...it may cause me to change my future behavior in such a way that it negatively impacts the Library or the even the world!"

"Sorry!" said Cassandra anxiously.

"That's...that's all right," Judson assured her. "But your Flynn is...is wrong; it _is_ possible to travel forward in time." Suddenly, an uneasy look came to his face and he dropped his gaze.

"Well, there's...there's a _slight_ possibility, anyway." Cassandra stared at the elderly man in astonishment.

"How?" she asked. He looked up again, his expression uneasy.

"We…we have a way, I think," he answered her vaguely. "I'd rather…rather not go into details yet. I…I don't want to get your hopes up…"

Charlene came back into the room then, a piece of paper in her hand that she held out to Judson as she strode quickly toward him.

"There's a train leaving Grand Central Station in ninety minutes," she informed him. "If you hurry, you can get packed and make it to the station just in time to catch it. You should be in Halifax by tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you, Charlene," the man said, brisk and businesslike as he took the slip of paper and glanced over the train information she had scribbled on it.

"Unfortunately, there's not a single hotel or boarding house with a room available," she continued disapprovingly. "So, considering the circumstances, I took the liberty of booking a return ticket for you on another train coming into New York later tomorrow evening. That will give you approximately four hours to look to Jenkins." Judson nodded in approval.

"Excellent, Charlene, thank you," he said as she stood and put the paper in his coat pocket. "Four hours should be plenty of time. Hail a cab for me, please, and have...have him wait. I shouldn't be long." He turned to head down the hallway that led to his quarters.

"You stay here with Cassandra," he called out over his shoulder to the Guardian. "I'll...I'll telephone you both the moment I find out anything!"


	11. The Portland Annex, 2019

After nearly seventy-two straight hours of intensive research, an exhausted Guardian and three equally exhausted Librarians met up in the Annex to go over their latest findings, but everyone was quickly disappointed and discouraged to learn that there were no new developments.

Their mood wasn't helped by the fact that Franklin was now ceaselessly wandering throughout the Annex and the Library, crying loudly for Jenkins and Cassandra as he searched futilely for his beloved adoptive parents. As time passed, the little tea dragon became more and more frantic, and he soon stopped eating, no matter how much Eve or the others tried to coax him.

Ever since they discovered that tea dragons had an actual language, Jacob had been working hard with Franklin to learn it at least well enough to enable them to communicate with the dragon, but Jacob's attempts were sorely hampered by his lack of a tail and movable ears. What he actually learned was that ninety-nine percent of tea dragon communication occurred visually, with the long tail and ears being essential for conveying the entire gamut of moods and feelings. Tea dragons _had_ picked up actual Mandarin Chinese words, but the acquisition of human language was comparatively late, and due to the structure of their mouths and throats, they could manage only a very limited vocabulary. They seemed to use the Chinese words only to add emphasis to whatever they were saying visually through their body language and the purely tea dragon vocalizations.

Regardless, Jake still tried to talk to Franklin and reassure the small reptile that everything was going to be all right, that he and the others were working hard to bring Jenkins and Cassandra home soon, but he wasn't sure how much the dragon actually understood.

Franklin gradually became so distraught that Jacob went to his and Ezekiel's apartment to bring back Thistle to keep him company. Having his little friend with him helped to calm and comfort Franklin, but he was still clearly anxious and depressed. Since Thistle possessed the ability to speak, Jake used her as a go-between of sorts, had her tell Franklin that all was going to be well. They were both dragons, albeit different species, but they possessed more language in common than tea dragons and humans. After Thistle communicated Jake's assurances to Franklin, the little dragon whimpered pitifully, his ears dropping as he flopped onto his belly on top of Jenkins's desk.

"What's he say, Thistle?" asked Jake, the others hovering behind him. The bujanga turned her large owl-like eyes to look up at the Librarian.

"Fran sad," she said somberly. "No Mista J, no Cass. Fran look look look, no find." Then Thistle's ears drooped and she leaned forward.

"Fran _scared_," she continued quietly. "Mista J gone, Cass gone, no come back. Maybe Mista J, Cass go to Forever Green Mountain."

"What's that, honey?" he asked, confused. "What's 'Forever Green Mountain'?" Thistle huffed quietly and absent-mindedly tapped one hind foot as she struggled to find the words she needed. Finally she looked up again.

"Bujanga gone—go to Memory," she said slowly. "Tea dragon gone—go to Forever Green Mountain." Jacob's heart dropped as his stood up.

"What does that mean, Jacob?" asked Eve anxiously from behind him. He didn't have the heart to turn around and face her.

"When bujangas die, they believe they become part of something like a collective ancestral memory," the Librarian explained solemnly. "Every bujanga in the world will just have a memory of Thistle after she dies, even down through successive generations."

"And what's that got to do with Jenkins and Cassandra?" Baird asked warily.

"Apparently 'Forever Green Mountain' is the tea dragon version of the afterlife," he said tonelessly. "She's sayin' that Franklin's afraid they're dead."

Stone heard Eve take a sharp breath and turn away, then he heard Flynn's voice murmuring softly as he tried to reassure her. Jake reached out and scratched Thistle behind one of her long ears.

"Tell Fran that Mista J and Cass are okay," he instructed, smiling and putting on a brave face for the worried bujanga. "Tell 'im they're not 'Memory', they're not going to 'Forever Green Mountain'. Tell 'im they'll be home soon." With a quiet trill of happiness, Thistle turned to communicate Jake's message as best she could to the unhappy little dragon. Franklin seemed to perk up a little bit, but he was still far more subdued than was usual. Thistle settled down next to Franklin and snuggled against her friend while Franklin lay still, his bulging black eyes fixed expectantly on the Back Door.

"So what now?" asked Jacob, turning his attention back to the others, his voice more gravelly than usual overwork and emotion.

"We keep searching," said Eve tiredly, lack of sleep doing nothing to take the edge off of her determination. "We keep searching until we find them! We don't give up hope—"

"We've already torn the Library apart tryin' to find any trace of 'em!" Jake countered, his frustration getting away from the historian. "We've gone over every scrap of paper, every single photograph, pulled every damn book that the Library has on the Titanic and its passengers, and we still have nuthin'!" He glanced around the table at the others as they all resumed their seats.

"Maybe…maybe we just aren't going be able to…" Ezekiel began, but Eve turned a hard glare onto him, her ice-blue eyes boring into him like a drill.

"No!" she snapped fiercely. "We do _not_ give up on them, Jones! Even if all we find in the end are their graves, we do _not_ stop looking for them!" Ezekiel dropped his gaze in wordless submission and nodded, while Flynn laid his hand on Eve's shoulder to calm her.

"We won't give up, Eve, I promise," Carsen said with uncharacteristic calm, but his voice carried no conviction. Eve turned to look at him, laying her hand on his as she struggled to keep her tears in check. Silence fell over the small group as they sat together, each struggling with their own thoughts and feelings.

"What would they have done with the bodies?" asked Ezekiel suddenly, startling the others out of their own morose contemplation.

"What're you talkin' about?" asked Jake, turning to glare angrily at the thief.

"I mean, what did they _do_ with the bodies they found?" repeated Jones with a shrug. "The ones they pulled out of the ocean—what did they do with all of them?"

"The ones that weren't identified and returned to their families were buried in mass graves in Halifax," answered Flynn dully.

"How many of those were there—unidentified bodies, I mean?" Jones asked. Flynn suddenly bolted upright in his chair and stared at Ezekiel as an idea flashed through his mind.

"There are _still_ forty-two bodies that haven't been identified to this day—they're buried in three different cemeteries in Halifax—one non-denominational cemetery, one Jewish, one Catholic. What are you thinking, Jones?" Flynn asked with rejuvenated interest. Ezekiel looked around the group; he had everyone's attention, now.

"Oh, my God," gasped Eve suddenly. "Do you think they were buried in Halifax?" She looked around wildly at Flynn. "But Jenkins is immortal! That would mean they buried him _alive_…!"

"_They ain't dead, goddammit_!" hollered Jake, at the same time shoving himself violently up from the table. He jabbed a stiff finger in Flynn's direction while glaring him in the eye. "They ain't dead! And if you say they are again, Librarian or not, I'm gonna break every bone in your face!"

Jake turned and stomped off a few paces, but stayed in the workroom. Carsen dropped his eyes to the floor and squirmed in his chair with agitation.

"Look, I don't want them to be dead, either," he said placatingly. "But I can't help being realistic about this. All I'm saying is, if one or both of them survived the sinking, it seems like they would've let us know somehow, left us message of some kind. But we haven't found _anything_ like that from Jenkins or Cassandra, and believe me, they _would_ have—if they'd been able."

They all fell silent again for several tense moments, pondering Flynn's words, reluctant to accept them.

"Whether we want to accept the possibility or not, the plain truth _could_ be that they simply didn't make it," the Flynn said finally, his voice barely loud enough to be heard.

"No! No! No!" countered Eve immediately. She pushed herself up from the table and walked a few steps away, unconsciously mimicking Stone and shaking her head. "Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope! Sorry, Flynn, but I _refuse_ to accept that! Jenkins is immortal; he would definitely survive something like that!"

"Well, um…" Flynn said quietly. "Actually, the things is—we really don't know what would've happened to him." Eve spun around.

"What do you mean, Flynn?" she demanded. "You said that the _only_ way to kill an immortal was through possession! Jenkins wasn't possessed!"

"If he somehow got off of the ship," Flynn continued soberly. "He could've survived, yes—_if_ he was rescued. But what if he wasn't rescued, Eve? There's surprisingly little documentation on how immortal physiology reacts to different conditions. Like—how long could he float out there on the ocean in those conditions? The water temperature on the night of the sinking was twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. The people who ended up in the water died of hypothermia within minutes, long before they had a chance to drown; how long could an immortal survive that? Chances are, his body shut down, went into sort of a state of suspended animation, but then what? Did he sink to the bottom of the ocean? The pressure at that depth would crush a man within…"

"Flynn, stop it! Just…_stop_!" cried Eve, on the edge of losing her composure completely. She strode further away from her husband, her hands covering her face as she fought to control herself and shove the ugly images now in her mind away. When she was ready, she turned around and nearly ran across the room to put her face close to Flynn's, her eyes flashing with anger now.

"I told you, Flynn: Jenkins is a soldier! He's a survivor! He's been through any number of hells in his life and he's _always_ found a way to come out of them in one piece!" She reached out both hands and grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and shook his head. "He made of it off that ship, Flynn, I _know_ he did! And I also know that he would've moved heaven and earth _and_ hell to make sure Cassandra got safely off of it, too!"

She released Flynn's head. "And _no one_ is going to tell me otherwise! Not you, not you, and not you!" She angrily spat the last few words, her voice hoarse and beginning to crack as she stabbed her finger first at Flynn, then Ezekiel and Jacob. Flynn got up and went to her, tried to put his arms around her, but she threw them off and moved out of his reach. Flynn stood there awkwardly, at a loss for what to do. All four people became stiff and silent again, each one desperately racking his or her brain for another way to find their friends, while the Guardian's heartfelt words rang in their ears.

_He's been through any number of hells in his life…!_

"Numbers!" Jones yelped, causing the others to jump. They all turned to stare at him.

"Numbers!" he repeated, then began to claw madly through the dozens of books, files and archive papers covering the worktable in high piles. "Numbers! Numbers! Numbers!" The other three drifted over to Ezekiel's end of the table.

"What're you babblin' about, Jones?" asked Jacob.

"Here!" the thief crowed, snatching up several sheets of paper and holding them up into the air over his head in triumph. He looked around at his friends, his eyes glowing.

"Numbers!" he said excitedly. "Listen! The Mackay-Bennett was the first recovery vessel to arrive on the scene, right? It recovered the largest number of victims. _All_ of the bodies they pulled out of the ocean after the sinking were given numbers and a list was made, each body described in as much detail as possible to help with the identifications later. When they reached Halifax, copies of the Mackay-Bennett list were sent to the ice rink so that the officials there could keep track of the bodies and make sure they were all accounted for. _All_ of the books, _all_ of the records say that the Mackay-Bennett found a total of three hundred and six bodies, right?"

"Riiight," answered Flynn carefully, wondering where this was going.

"Right! So, going by the records made on board the ship, they buried one hundred and sixteen of those bodies at sea. That means they brought one hundred and ninety bodies back to Halifax."

"Yeah, so?" said Jacob, confused. "What's your point?"

"My point is—_why_ is there suddenly one hundred and ninety_-one_ bodies on this list from the ice-rink-slash-morgue in Halifax?" the Australian countered, holding out the sheaf of papers to Stone, who snatched it from his friend's hand.

"Check out the _very_ last entry," directed Ezekiel. Jacob flipped through the photocopies until he found the last page of numbers. At first he saw nothing untoward, but then his eye caught a line of what at first had appeared to be just shapeless blobs of ink or debris reproduced when the photocopies of the record had been made, but now Jake could clearly see that the bottom edge of the original had been torn away, leaving only small fragments of handwriting still visible along the ragged edge. He dug one-handed through the papers and books littering the table until he found a magnifying glass. Holding it over the tear, Jacob was just able to make out the remnants of another line of handwriting. He looked up at Flynn and Eve.

"There was another line!" he said excitedly, then looked up from the sheet. "There were a hundred and _ninety-one_ names on this list originally—the last entry was torn off of the original!"

"Jenkins!" breathed Eve. "Or Cassandra? Or maybe both? Can you tell what is says, Stone?"

"Hold on, Eve," cautioned Flynn. "Let's not jump to any conclusions."

"Why are you so down on Jenkins and Cassandra surviving this?" demanded Eve, turning to glare at her husband.

"I'm not down on it, Eve," Carsen said defensively. "I just don't want you all to get your hopes up just have them dashed in the end! It was a very confused and emotional time when those bodies were recovered and brought in. Mistakes could've been made, very easily. And it could very well be that this 'extra' body was actually a passenger and there was just a miscount somewhere along the line. That's all I'm saying." He glanced around at the others.

"Look, I want them both to be safe and sound and to come back to us as much as all of you do," he finished firmly.

"Doesn't really sound like it!" groused the Guardian angrily, but Carsen ignored her as he continued.

"_But_ we have to go at this logically and with calm heads." Jake stared at Flynn through slitted eyes.

"Yeah? You want logical and calm-headed?" he shot back defiantly, then held up the torn paper still in his hand and shook it at the Librarian. "Okay, how's this, then? There definitely is another entry on this list—_could_ be Jenkins, _could_ be Cassandra, could be _anyone_. Could just be a mistake somebody made, too, hell if I know! But I _do_ know this: Jenkins was alive in 1912 when all of this Titanic stuff went down, huh? He already _knows_ all about the Titanic and the timelines involved, and Cass knows enough about what happened that night to not be caught completely off-guard!" The historian's blue eyes swept the small audience in front of him.

"So, then, POOF! He and Cass are transported there by that cursed gemstone. They already _know_ what's gonna happen, right? Jenkins is gonna get Cass into a lifeboat, like Baird said. He knows that ship is going down, he knows that Cass can't survive bein' in water that cold for the two hours between the time the Titanic sinks and the time the first rescue ship—the Carpathia—arrives on the scene, so he gets her in a lifeboat. Cass is rescued by the Carpathia and taken back to New York. Now, where's Cass gonna go from there?"

"The Library!" exclaimed Ezekiel, looking around at the others. "She's going to go to the one place that she knows can help her! She's going to go find Charlene, or maybe even 1912 Jenkins! They can help her and 2019 Jenkins!"

"Or Judson," added Flynn, his voice carrying a trace of wistful surprise at this idea. "Judson would be able to help them, too!" He frowned in consternation. "Funny, Judson never mentioned anything about this happening. But, then again, he wouldn't be able to, it would violate the Law of Causality. If we knew about the Heart Stone and what it would do, we would try to _prevent_ it, of course, which, in turn, would change the timeline, perhaps for the better, _probably_ for the worse..."

"I would think that this is one time where preventing something like this would be a good thing!" said Eve bitterly. Flynn shook his head.

"No, Eve," he said gently. "Maybe this was supposed to happen for a reason? Maybe they were supposed to be sent back into the past, maybe there was a purpose for it?" He reached out to take her hand, but the Guardian snatched it out of his reach.

"Are you kidding me?" she yelled. "Flynn, that's all we do around here—interfere with things! We're _always_ stopping this bad thing from happening, or stopping that bad guy from turning the world into a smoking cinder in space! How can letting Cassandra and Jenkins die in the middle an ocean serve any good purpose? How can the death of _any_ of those poor people in the middle of nowhere be necessary?" Flynn shook his head again sadly.

"We have no way of knowing the 'whys', Eve," he answered. "We're only Librarians and Guardians, not gods." The expression on his weathered face went from sadness to one of thoughtfulness.

"So logically-speaking: Jenkins, being Jenkins, gets Cassandra into a lifeboat. He's immortal, so he stays on the ship; he would never get into a lifeboat himself—women and children first, yadda, yadda, yadda."

"Cuz _he_ thinks he can survive in the water until the Carpathia arrives," said Jake, frowning. "But according to the records, no survivors were pulled directly from the water, only the lifeboats."

"So, either something went wrong with the plan, or maybe he got into a lifeboat _after_ the ship sank?" posited Ezekiel, but Stone shook his head.

"That would've been recorded, too," he said. "In fact, the lifeboats intentionally rowed _away_ from the victims in the water, they were afraid they'd be swarmed by so many survivors that the lifeboats would capsize. Only a few people were pulled from the water, and they're all recorded and documented crew or passengers on the Titanic."

"Maybe Jenkins was recovered by one of the other rescue ships?" asked Eve anxiously. "How many were there?"

"Only two," replied Jake firmly. "The Carpathia and the Californian. They were the only two ships close enough at the time to have any chance of picking up survivors." He looked around at his friends. "But it's the same story; no one alive was pulled directly from the water by those ships, either. If they had, that absolutely would've been recorded."

"After that, there were two official recovery ships, the Mackay-Bennett and the Minia," Flynn picked up the history of that awful night so long ago. "They were contracted by the White Star Line to recover the bodies and bring them back to Halifax for identification and reclamation by their families." Eve opened her mouth to ask another question, but Flynn anticipated her. He shook his head vigorously.

"Those ships arrived _days_ after the sinking, Eve. No one they recovered was alive."

"But...Jenkins is _immortal_!" she continued to protest. "He can't be killed!"

"But he can die," said Ezekiel hesitantly. "Maybe...maybe he can still freeze to death, if the conditions are bad enough?" Librarians and Guardian exchanged uncomfortable glances, and there was a long pause as everyone digested this theory. Suddenly, Eve raised her head and held her hands up, began to wave them in front of her.

"No!" she said loudly, shaking her blonde head. "No! I refuse to accept that! Jenkins walked through a cloud of poisonous gas once to rescue you two and Cassandra, and he came out of it without so much as a scratchy throat! I refuse to believe that he can actually freeze to death!" She turned and looked directly into Flynn's eyes.

"What _would_ happen to Jenkins?" she demanded. "If he was in the water that night—what would've happened to him?" The Librarian fidgeted uneasily as he stalled for time.

"Well, um... If all of the ships missed him, he would've probably eventually frozen solid, or almost solid," he began.

"Then what?" Eve prodded him.

"Well," Flynn continued, his mind latching onto her question as a simple problem that needed to be solved. "A mortal would've died of hypothermia long before they could drown. Jenkins _can't_ drown, so—his body would've probably slowly shut down—his metabolism slows, his heart rate slows, his breathing, brain activity..."

"Suspended animation," said Jake said impatiently. "He basically falls into something like a coma."

"So to all outward appearances, he _looks_ like he's dead!" said Eve eagerly. "The recovery ships find him, they think he _is_ dead, so they treat him like all of the other dead victims! So what would come next?"

"One of three things," replied Flynn, holding up a hand and ticking off the possibilities. "One: His body shuts down after he freezes in the water and he sinks to the ocean floor, where the pressure at that depth crushes him."

"_Jesus_, Flynn!" gasped Baird, horrified.

"Two: He's on a piece of wreckage," Carsen continued, unfazed. He manages to attach himself to a piece of the wreckage—a deck chair or a door or something. He freezes, but he's not recovered by the ships and floats off to a point far away from the wreck site, the piece of wreckage he's on becomes waterlogged and he _then_ sinks to ocean floor."

"Oh, my God!" moaned the Guardian.

"Or, three: He's recovered from a piece of wreckage and they assume he's dead, and they treat him like all of the other corpses they recovered."

"He's taken back to Halifax, they try to identify him, get 'im returned back to his family," finished Jacob.

"No one claims him, so then he's buried in one of the mass graves!" Eve quickly concluded a look of utter horror in her eyes. "Jesus Christ, Flynn, we have to go and get him!"

"Is there not _something_ here in the Library that can tell us where they are and if they're okay?" Ezekiel yelled, his patience with all of the possibilities and hypotheses wearing through completely. "I mean, for God's sake, we've got the largest collection of magical artifacts in the bloody world ever, and there's not a single one that can just tell us if they're even alive or dead?"

"Ezekiel, we can't depend on magic to solve all of our problems..." Flynn began, his face sympathetic. The thief rolled his eyes and waved his arms impatiently.

"'Cause then we might become corrupted by magic's power, blah, blah, blah! I know the anti-pep talk, Flynn, and I say bugger that hypocritical bullshit! Eve's right; we use magic _all_ the time!" The Australian turned and pointed accusingly at the globe that housed the Back Door mechanism.

"Literally, every single time we go through that Back Door, we're using magic! What's the good of having _all_ of this stuff here if we can never use it to help us or to help someone else? I know we all said that we'd never use magic, except when we _have_ to—if this isn't a 'have to' situation, then what the hell is? What's the bloody point of even keeping it here? Why not just destroy it all outright, if it's so freaking dangerous?" He paused for a moment, running the fingers of both hands through his hair and over his face in agitation. He took a deep, cleansing breath and looked around at the others.

"Look, all I'm saying is, _why_ reinvent the wheel, especially in a situation like this? We've already wasted the last three days trying to get answers the old-fashioned way, and we've got nothing. Why not try something a little more _un_conventional now?" Ezekiel dropped into a chair and gave them a hard look.

"Maybe we can't do anything on our end to bring them back, but maybe we can at least find out where they are, even if it's in a cemetery." Jones leaned back in the chair and dropped his gaze before finishing his argument in an emotion-filled voice. "I don't know about you guys, but right now—knowing _anything_ is better than knowing nothing!"

There was a long silence as everyone pondered the thief's words. Finally, Stone turned to Flynn.

"Is there something here we can use to locate 'em?" he asked quietly, insistently. "Jones is right; knowin's better than not knowin', even if that means knowin' that they're dead." Carsen glanced at Eve, his eyes questioning, and she gave a tiny nod of agreement with Jake and Ezekiel. Flynn heaved a heavy sigh and raised a hand to run it over his throat distractedly.

"Honestly, guys, I don't even know if the Library has an artifact like that or not," the Librarian said. "I'll have to research it, go over the entire inventory of the Library, see if I can find anything that—" He stopped talking as Eve's hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his upper arm, gripping it painfully as a look of triumph flooded her face, replacing the one of defeat.

"I think I know of an artifact that can at least tell us where they are!" she said breathlessly, looking intently into Carsen's confused eyes for a moment before she looked over at Jake.

"Stone, dial up a door for Florence, Italy! Now!"


	12. Halifax, Nova Scotia, 1912

Judson stepped off of the train in Halifax and pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck against the chilly evening air. It had been a long, tiring trip from New York, made even longer by the many grieving families and reporters that packed into the train he shared with them to Nova Scotia. It was getting dark and colder by the time the train pulled into the station near the harbor, the wind from the sea nipping at his exposed nose and cheeks. He hadn't brought any luggage with him on this trip, it wasn't needed. He didn't plan to stay a moment longer than was necessary; he had only one purpose here, and he immediately set out to accomplish it.

After asking for directions, he walked rapidly through the city towards the makeshift morgue at the ice rink. Judson hoped mightily that he found Jenkins here; if he didn't… The immortal shivered within his heavy camelhair coat. There were times when being an immortal had its distinct _disadvantages_; having the ability to sink to the bottom of the Atlantic and still be alive was one possibility that he didn't want to even think about. Judson certainly had his differences with the mule-headed Caretaker, but he had never wished any harm on Jenkins. Charlene was one of the things that had caused the most friction between them, of course, and it was a huge relief to Judson to know that sometime in the future Jenkins would finally give up his unhealthy obsession with the ex-Guardian and find a true love of his own. Judson frowned as he walked and shook his head in consternation. Charlene was _far_ too old for Jenkins, anyway!

The Librarian's frown turned into a small smile as he hurried through the nearly-deserted streets. The 1500-year difference in ages between Jenkins and Cassandra was a much more acceptable gap, in Judson's opinion. And who would have ever thought that an irascible, stodgy man like Jenkins would end up with such a beautiful, vivacious young woman as Cassandra? And a _Librarian_ no less! The pair clearly loved each other deeply, too—a true Sealing was a rare and precious thing; not many couples, regardless of how deeply or how genuinely they loved each other, actually survived the Sealing process. The fact that Jenkins and Cassandra had done so unscathed spoke volumes. Her possession of Old Magic concerned Judson a great deal, but that was something that would have to wait until the future before it could be dealt with, in its proper time.

Judson continued through the rapidly chilling air until he found Water Street, then turned onto North Street. He followed the narrow road through the quiet city until he reached Agricola Street. A short distance from there brought him within sight of the Mayflower Curling Club's ice rink, a low, mostly-wooden structure that squatted right next to the street. Though the hour was late, there were still a few anxious family members and friends coming out of the rink, some weeping with grief at finally learning the fates of their loved ones; others weeping because they found no answers at all.

As he approached the entrance, the immortal was met by a man who was acting as a security guard. He stepped in front of the door to block Judson's entrance.

"May I help you, sir?" the guard asked tiredly. He was a tall, middle-aged man with a thick walrus mustache and a face weathered by the elements. Judson tipped his hat in greeting, smiled.

"I...I hope so," he said, quickly replacing the smile with a mournful expression. "I'm here to see if I can speak to someone about the bodies that were brought in? From...from the Titanic. I was told in New York that..."

"I'm sorry, sir," the guard cut Judson off curtly. "You'll have to come back tomorrow. There's no one here now to help you, they're going home to get a few hours' rest. Come back tomorrow morning, sir, six o'clock."

"That's…that's too bad," Judson replied, his face moving from mournful to impatient. The train he arrived on was heading back to New York in just over three hours' time, and he was determined to be on it—with Jenkins, if he was indeed here. The small man stared up into the pale blue eyes of the ersatz security man.

"You see, I'm with the _Library_."

The guard's head fell back slightly and he blinked several times, his face registering confusion for a couple of seconds before it cleared and a large smile appeared.

"Oh! The library! In New York, you said?" the man said warmly. "You must be here to document the goings on here, then! Record a first-hand account of things, for posterity? Well, I certainly don't want to stand in the way of posterity, no sir! Especially where a tragedy as great as this is concerned! Please, sir, step right this way! Mr. Coggins is still here, sir. He'll be staying here all night, just to make sure things are safe—he can help you!"

Smiling, Judson followed the guard into the rink. The air was cold and still inside the building, and their footsteps echoed loudly. On the ice, Judson saw several rows of plain rectangular coffins made of pine, neatly lined up. Each coffin was packed round with sacks of additional ice to help with keeping the sad contents of the coffins cool for as long as possible. On the far side of the rink he could see a large sheet of canvas hung up on a makeshift scaffolding to hide something from view. As the guard led Judson to a small table and several straight-back wooden chairs set up in an out of the way corner of the rink, he called for Coggins.

"Here! Mr. Coggins! A man come all the way from New York City to see you!"

A slightly overweight man of medium height, with slicked back black hair, a thick black mustache and dressed in a rumpled three-piece suit of dark brown wool stood up from the table. He was pale and looked worn out. He glared at the two men approaching him with more than a little irritation.

"Yes, Stevens, what is it?" he snapped as he stepped around the table, adjusting his suit coat. A gold watch-chain glittered from his waistcoat in the dim lighting. Judson stretched out his hand.

"Mr. Coggins, my…my name is Judson. I'm with the _Library_." Coggins's face fell slack for just a moment, then recovered to smile benignly at his unexpected visitor. Coggins took the man's hand and shook it vigorously.

"Mr. Judson, I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir!" he said enthusiastically. "Though I do wish it could've been under happier circumstances." He turned to nod at the guard in dismissal.

"That'll be all, Stevens, thank you." Stevens turned and left the two men alone. Coggins clasped his hands together in front of him and turned his full attention onto Judson.

"So, Mr. Judson—how may I assist you? I certainly hope you don't have someone..._here_...?" He turned and waved his arm to indicate the rows of coffins. Sadness filled the immortal's eyes as he once again looked over the scores of boxes that still covered the ice of the curling rink. No matter how many millennia he lived, the senseless death of innocent people never ceased to pierce his ancient heart.

"I'm...I'm afraid so," he replied. "Or, it's a possibility, I should say. Jenkins—my associate—was on board the Titanic. He was...he was returning from a business trip in England. Library business, you understand. It…it occurs to me that, if he had survived, he…he would've contacted us the moment he arrived in New York, but, as it is..." His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. Coggins nodded in understanding.

"Of course," he murmured, his haggard face sympathetic. "But...I'm afraid, Mr. Judson, that if your associate _is_ here, we can only legally release him to relatives. Otherwise he'll have to be buried here in Halifax, but at least we can bury him in a separate grave of his own, with a proper headstone, rather than in a mass grave with the ones we can't identify or who have no family to claim them."

"I'm…I'm afraid he has no blood relatives left anymore," Judson said, fixing the bureaucrat with a mournful hangdog look. "He's rather elderly, you see. He...he never had children, and he's...he's outlived everyone else in his family." Judson leaned in and lowered his voice.

"Surely we can come to some sort of...of _arrangement_?" he murmured conspiratorially. "He would want to be buried in…in the United States, you see. With the rest of his family. They...they have a mausoleum in upstate New York. Generations of his lineage are buried there, all the way back to the very first Jenkins to land here in the New World. In 1635, I believe he once said." As he spun his tale, Judson slipped his wallet from his breast pocket and opened it, carefully tilting it so that Coggins could see clearly inside: Five crisp American hundred-dollar bills.

"Ah, well, I can certainly appreciate _that_," said the clerk, his hazel eyes wide. With an effort he tore his gaze from the wallet's contents to look at Judson, a nervous smile on his thin lips. "I'm certain that in such an unfortunate case as this, we can make an exception—for the sake of charity!" Judson smiled as he closed his wallet and returned it to his coat pocket.

"Excellent!" he answered steadily. "Provided that my associate is...is actually here, of course."

"Of course! Of course!" Coggins rushed to say. He hurried back to the table where he'd been seated when Judson first came in. "Just let me fetch the list, Mr. Judson! What is your associate's name again, please?" Judson followed Coggins to the table.

"Jenkins," he said. "His name is Jenkins." Coggins flipped through several sheets of paper on a clipboard as he eagerly scanned the names. The eagerness faded as he flipped through the list a second time.

"I'm afraid there's no one on the list by that name," he said, frowning and disappointed. His expression suddenly changed back to one of hopefulness. "But, then again, most have not been identified by _name_ yet. Would you describe him for me, please? His physical characteristics, any scars or birthmarks or such that may help to identify him?"

"Certainly. He's very tall, six feet and four inches, to be precise," Judson began. "White hair, brown eyes. He has...he has a great many scars on his body. And tattoos. He was a soldier, when he was a young man. Saw a lot of action in...in...the…French Foreign Legion! Yes! Very…very sad story behind that, I won't get into that now, though…" Judson realized he was babbling and fell silent before Coggins became suspicious. But, thankfully, the clerk wasn't paying close attention. A look of recognition crossed his face and he raised a finger into the air in front of him.

"Scars and tattoos, you say?" he said excitedly. "Does he have a rather large dragon on his left chest and arm, and a very badly scarred back by any chance?" Judson fought to keep his own excitement down.

"Yes...yes, he does!" he answered enthusiastically. "Is...is he here? Have you seen him?" Coggins was nearly beside himself with barely-restrained joy as he began to hurry off in the direction of the large canvas curtain at the end of the end.

"I think we may be in luck! Right this way, please, Mr. Judson!" he called out, waving for the immortal to follow. Judson trailed him gingerly over the ice as the clerk led him behind the heavy canvas.

"He was one of the last bodies pulled from the ocean, I understand," said Coggins cheerfully as he lit a lantern. "He wasn't embalmed on the recovery ship, the undertaker—Mr. Snow—was out of fluid by that point, so they just packed him in ice. Snow suspected he was a First Class passenger because of the items he was found with—fine clothes and whatnot." Coggins leaned in fraternally.

"Technically, it's against the law to bring an unembalmed body into port, because of the danger of contagion in case the unfortunate deceased succumbed to something communicable, you understand. But in a case like _this_..." The clerk shrugged. "I hear that the Astor family paid a handsome reward for the recovery of John Jacob's body, to be split up amongst the entire crew. I suppose Snow figured if one family paid a reward, then perhaps other families might, as well...?" Coggins shrugged again. He turned to the large pine coffin sitting on the floor in front of a long table. By the light of the lantern Judson could see a rack of bottles, rubber tubing and large-gauge needles, bowls, buckets and the other odds and ends of a mortician's trade. The smell of formaldehyde was almost overpowering.

"This fellow is first on the list for embalming tomorrow morning," the clerk informed Judson. He grabbed the thin lid of the coffin with one hand and lifted it, pushing it to the side slightly to reveal the face of the man inside. Coggins held the lantern up and over the coffin.

Judson peered inside the wooden box. Inside was a body, shrouded in a tied canvas sack. He reached in and untied the rope, then gently pulled the canvas away to reveal the face of the corpse. The ancient Librarian's eyes widened slightly, and he felt an unexpected rush of sorrow as he recognized Jenkins. The normally fastidious old Caretaker's hair was uncombed and sticking out from his head every which way, stiff and straw-like from spending so much time in sea-water, wind and sun. His face was waxy and white as snow, except for his nose, lips, ears and the apples of his cheeks: Those all showed signs of the onset of severe frostbite. Judson shuddered inwardly as he imagined what the immortal's fingers and toes must look like. Jenkins appeared to be asleep, blissfully unaware of the nightmare into which he had been plunged. Judson reached in to lay a hand lightly on one of Jenkins's cheeks; it was ice-cold.

"Is this your associate, Mr. Judson?" asked Coggins anxiously. Judson nodded solemnly.

"Yes, yes it is."

Judson stood silently for a few minutes, staring down at the man in the coffin. Jenkins was in much worse condition than Judson had anticipated. The Caretaker was going to have a _very_ rough time of it recovering from this. And, he determined, it was something that Cassandra shouldn't see.

Believing the American was mourning his friend, Coggins waited patiently at first, but as time dragged on he grew restless. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and loudly cleared his throat. The noise pulled Judson from his thoughts and he turned to look at Coggins.

"Pardon me, sir," said Coggins. "I hate to disturb you at this trying time, but if you would please step back to the table there are several documents for you to sign—affidavits pertaining to the identification of the deceased, permission for embalming—that sort of thing…"

"No," said the short man. Coggins looked perplexed.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Judson retied the canvas before pulling the coffin lid back into place, then turned to face Coggins, at the same time reaching for his wallet.

"I'd prefer to keep this simple and private," he said, his stutter gone. He opened the wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. He looked up and fixed the wide-eyed clerk with a steady gaze.

"There will be no embalming." A second hundred was removed from the wallet.

"And I want him and all of the personal effects found with him sent to the train station immediately and put on the train bound for New York City, it's leaving in a couple of hours." The last three hundreds were pulled out to join the others. Judson slipped his wallet into a coat pocket with one hand while the other held up the money.

"There is to be no paperwork. And _nothing_ is to be said to anyone about this, otherwise…" He shrugged, but his normally sad-looking eyes suddenly flashed with an unspoken warning that sent a chill through Coggins. The clerk glanced down at the small fortune being offered to him and swallowed. He then reached out and snatched the money from the Librarian, stuffed it quickly into his trousers pocket.

"I'll round up some men to load the coffin into a wagon at once, sir!" he said, smiling brightly. "Just let me go and fetch his personal effects!"

As the official scurried off to gather the canvas bag that went with coffin number 307, Judson remembered something and called after him.

"Excuse me, is…is there a telephone nearby that I may use?" Coggins stopped and spun around.

"Yes, sir, of course!" he called back, eager to help the rich American. "There's one on the table here—if you'll come this way, please?"

Judson followed the man back to the table where Coggins had been working. As soon as Coggins showed the Librarian the telephone, he turned and hurried off to finish fulfilling Judson's instructions. Judson sat for a moment in a hard, well-worn Windsor-style chair for a few moments to gather his thoughts. When he was ready, he picked up the receiver of the heavy black candlestick telephone and clicked the cradling hook a couple of times to get an operator.

"Yes, Operator, could you please connect me with the Metropolitan Public Library, New York City?" he asked when the young woman answered. "Person to person with Miss Charlene."

"Hold, please," the operator pleasantly instructed him. As he waited for her to connect the call, Judson pulled the clipboard holding the list of the victims' names toward himself and looked through the sheets of paper. On the very last sheet he found the hastily-scribbled entry: "_No. 307—Unknown white male, elderly, many scars & tattoos, First Class"_ followed by a detailed description of Jenkins and his body.

Judson carefully tore the entry off of the bottom of the paper, leaving just enough for anyone in the future who may examine the document to see that there was one additional victim of the Titanic without revealing who it was. He folded the torn scrap and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket just as the operator connected his call to the Library.


	13. The Metropolitan Public Library, 1912

Cassandra and Charlene sat at the Guardian's desk in the Card Catalog Room of the Library, a hot cup of frothy cocoa in front of each woman. Charlene tried all day to get some nourishment into the young woman, but Cassandra hadn't eaten enough food to keep a bird alive, and now she barely sipped her drink. Her eyes reflected her fatigue and worry, and the Guardian, in turn, worried about the young Librarian. Charlene honestly didn't expect Judson to find Jenkins; while carefully keeping the newspapers away from Cassandra, Charlene had been reading the awful details about the recovery effort. Out of the fifteen hundred and more souls on the Titanic when she went down, only a pitiful handful of bodies had been found so far, the vast majority having slipped beneath the waves to disappear forever into the depths of the sea. The idea of Jenkins—a fellow immortal unable to mercifully die in such circumstances—being one of those resting on the sea floor sent an icy stab of horror through the normally unflappable woman.

After Judson left for Halifax, Charlene tried to console and encourage Cassandra. She was afraid to engage the young woman in too much conversation, however—the Guardian knew the hazards of time travel well, and it was important for her and Judson to know as little about the future as possible, lest they be tempted to try and change things or, worse, do so inadvertently. Charlene tried to talk about inconsequential things, but all Cassandra wanted to talk about was Jenkins.

"When Judson finds him, he'll be okay, won't he?" she asked Charlene distractedly. "I mean, I know he's immortal, he can't be killed, but he can still be hurt…will he be all right? I don't know how being in water that cold for so long will affect him! Can he get things like frostbite? Jenkins told me he would be okay—he just needed to wait for the rescue ships to come, he said they were only two hours away, he said it wouldn't hurt him to be in the water for just two hours." She looked up from her cup with frightened blue eyes.

"But he wasn't on the Carpathia, I looked for him! I asked everyone on board, and I looked for him everywhere, but no one had seen him!" Her voice quavered and cracked with sorrow as she stared into her cooling chocolate again.

"If I lose him, Charlene…" she whispered, struggling to hold back her tears. Charlene reached across the table to take the Librarian's cold hand.

"Don't give up on Jenkins just yet," she said, hoping she sounded confident. "I've known him a very long time, dear, and he's gotten out of tougher spots than this—he can be a very bold and resourceful man when the situation warrants it! It's too bad that he was never invited to become a Librarian." Charlene shook her head sadly. "He would've been wonderful!"

"I know," said Cassandra despondently. "I remember you telling him that when… Oh!" She gasped as she caught herself just in time and looked up at the Guardian.

"Sorry! I can't tell you about that!" she said quickly. "Flynn told us all about time travel and the Law of Causality and everything—OH!" Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut and held clenched fists up to her head.

"Crap! Sorry! You're not supposed to know about Flynn! Omigod!" The frazzled Librarian was on the verge of bursting into tears, and Charlene squeezed her hand sympathetically.

"Don't worry, Cassandra, there's no harm done," the Guardian said soothingly. She reached into the sleeve of her blouse to pull out a small, delicate handkerchief and handed it to Cassandra. As the Librarian took the cloth, Charlene caught the glint of gold on Cassandra's hand.

"So—that's a Sealing ring," the immortal continued. "You and Jenkins—you're really Sealed? That must have been an incredible experience!" Cassandra nodded hesitantly, but remained silent, not sure how much it was safe to say to the older woman. Charlene smiled lopsidedly and patted her hand.

"I'm glad he finally found someone! I'm sure you know by now that he's had a terrible crush on me for, well...ages!" she said, hoping she sounded suitably annoyed. "I keep putting him off, I keep trying to get him to forget about me, but…" The older woman shrugged and looked pointedly at Cassandra. "He's _very_ stubborn."

Cassandra smiled half-heartedly but didn't say anything, merely dropped her eyes and dabbed at them with the handkerchief. The Guardian said nothing and an awkward silence arose. Charlene decided it was a good time to address something she and Judson were concerned about.

"Cassandra, I'd like to talk to you about the night the Heart of Sorrow spoke to you," she said. Cassandra's head jerked up. Her eyes were wide and terrified as she began shaking her head.

"I _hate_ that thing!" she said, suddenly angry. "I don't want to even think about it anymore! I wish I'd never heard of it!"

"I understand how you feel," Charlene persisted. She reached out to grasp the young woman's forearm. "But we should talk about what it said to you."

"NO!" cried Cassandra, pulling her arm out of the Guardian's hand. The sudden movement jostled the table, sloshing cocoa from her barely touched mug. "I _can't_! I don't want to! I'm…I'm afraid!" She roughly twisted the handkerchief in her hands for a few moments, then took a deep breath.

"Why?" asked Charlene gently. "Why are you afraid?" Cassandra's shoulders slumped as she continued to play with the handkerchief.

"The Stone didn't tell me anything that I didn't already know," she confessed. She hesitated a moment to carefully choose her words.

"I've always wanted to believe in magic, ever since I was little; coming to the Library and learning that magic _is_ real was one of the greatest days of my life!" she explained. "And since I became a Librarian, I've always had a special interest in magic. I think I have a real gift for it, too—a _natural_ gift. The concepts and inner workings of it just sort of come to me. I understand magic, how it works and why. I've been studying _everything_ the Library has on magic!" Charlene noted how the young woman's eyes lit up as she talked, almost as much as when she talked about Jenkins.

"I know—I can't tell you how—but I've always known that I have the potential to be…something great. Before I became a Librarian, I thought that meant a great mathematician or a physicist or something like that. But now, I wonder if what I was really feeling was the potential to be a great magic-user?" Cassandra went on. She suddenly dropped her head, almost bashful. "I…I could even be as great as Merlin…" Charlene hid her surprise at such a bold declaration, but she could see that the Librarian wholeheartedly believed what she was saying.

"I see," she said. "And what does Jenkins say about all of this?" Cassandra immediately tensed again, and Charlene knew that she had found the source of the Librarian's fear.

"He doesn't approve," Cassandra answered, unable to keep all of the bitterness out of her voice. "He thinks it's too dangerous. He thinks it's too 'deep' for me to understand completely. He's afraid I'm going hurt myself or someone else, or worse. He wants me to abandon my studies and just be…a…a _regular_ Librarian!"

"And the thing that makes you most afraid is that you can't do that, that it will come between you and Jenkins and ultimately drive you apart, or that you'll have to one day choose between Jenkins and magic," finished Charlene quietly. Cassandra dropped her gaze and pressed her lips together, nodded her head.

"Yeah," she whispered. Charlene said nothing for a moment, then she delicately cleared her throat and adjusted her seat on her chair.

"You know, Judson and I had a similar problem, early on in our careers," she said. Cassandra looked up at her, blinking in surprise.

"Really?" she asked. Charlene nodded and smiled at the memory.

"Yes, indeed," she confirmed. "Only in our case, it wasn't magic that Judson wanted me to give up. It was fighting." Cassandra gaped at the older woman for a moment and then snorted softly.

"Really?" she said again. "But you were his Guardian!"

"Not at first," Charlene said, shaking her head. "At first, I was his assistant—I kept the records and the accounts and such. But one day the Library was attacked by the original incarnation of the Serpent Brotherhood. Without thinking, I grabbed a sword and a shield and I jumped into the fray! I fought them off, right alongside Judson and the other men!" She leaned forward and winked knowingly at Cassandra.

"And do you know what? Even though I had never held a sword in my life before that moment, I fought every bit as well as they did," she said, her blue eyes glittering with pride. "In fact, I fought _better_ than most of the men, including Judson! It just came naturally to me." Cassandra smiled, but held back any laughter.

"And Judson didn't like that, huh?" she asked.

"It wasn't the fact that I could fight better than him that he disliked," Charlene corrected. "He was afraid that I might be hurt, or killed. But once the Library made it known that it wanted _me_ as a Guardian, he really couldn't say anything about it." Cassandra took a deep breath and sighed heavily.

"Too bad the Library didn't call me to be a sorceress," she said morosely. Charlene snorted.

"It wouldn't matter if it had," the Guardian said. "Jenkins would _still_ be afraid for you because he loves you. Just like Judson was afraid for me the entire time I was an active Guardian." She reached out took Cassandra's hands in hers.

"You possess what is known as 'The Gift'—the Old Magic. It's old and primeval and goes back to the very beginning of the world itself! The last time it manifested in this world was in the days of King Arthur." Charlene leaned forward and looked directly into the young Librarian's eyes.

"And Jenkins—Galahad—fears it because he understands all too well how destructive it can become, how quickly it can corrupt the unwary. He lost everyone and everything he loved to the Old Magic," she continued. "And so he naturally fears losing _you_ to it as well." She squeezed Cassandra's hands and then let them go.

"But, if it _is_ meant to be, it _will_ be," she said with certainty. "Galahad won't be able to stand in your way, but he'll need time to get used to the idea. He's stubborn, yes, but he's not a fool. When he sees that this Gift you possess truly is your path, your _destiny_, he will become your staunchest protector and ally. This Gift won't separate the two of you, you won't have to choose between them—I promise!" She sighed and leaned back in chair.

"What concerns me is that the _Stone_ knows that," she said grimly. "It told you so itself—it felt the Old Magic that you possess, and it used that knowledge against you. That's how it was able to trick you into touching it. Had you been more experienced and more knowledgeable, you might've been able to fend off its initial attack and avoid this mess you find yourself in right now." She fixed a pointed look onto Cassandra.

"And you might want to mention _that_ fact to Galahad, too, when you talk to him about this later!" she said, her tone slightly acerbic.

Both women suddenly jumped, startled as the large wall-mounted telephone near Mr. Dare's desk jangled loudly to life. Cassandra bolted upright at the sound and twisted around in her chair to stare at the telephone for a moment before turning to look fearfully at Charlene.

"Mr. Judson?" she whispered.

Charlene got up and rushed to answer the telephone as it continued to ring. Cassandra stood and followed her, anxiously hovering behind her and holding her breath as she strained to hear the other end of the conversation. She could recognize a man's voice, but that was all. The sound of her heart pounding in her ears drowned out everything else after that.

The Guardian listened intently, carefully keeping her face expressionless for the first few minutes of the conversation, nodding slightly as the halting voice on the other end of the call spoke at length.

"Yes, all right, Judson. I understand," she finally said quietly. "We'll see you tomorrow, then." She replaced the receiver onto its hook, then turned to face a trembling Cassandra and smiled wanly.

"Judson found Jenkins," she said. Cassandra blinked, uncertain that she'd actually heard Charlene correctly. When the words finally registered, Cassandra cried out with relief, closing her eyes tightly. Her knees turned to jelly and she felt as though a huge boulder had been lifted off of her chest. _Jenkins was all right! _The Librarian opened her eyes.

"How soon will they get here?" Cassandra asked shakily. "Is Jenkins okay? Was he—" She halted mid-sentence, and the feeling of cold, dead weight returned to her chest as she suddenly noticed the expression on Charlene's face, somber, the smile gone now.

"What…what is it?" the younger woman whispered, feeling suddenly sick with dread. "Jenkins—he's not…?" She could make herself say the word "dead".

"Jenkins is alive," said the Guardian solemnly. Relief again washed over Cassandra, making her so light-headed that she almost collapsed. She reached out to hold onto the back of a nearby chair to steady herself; she didn't know how much more of this emotional back and forth she was going to be able to take.

"But?" Cassandra prompted, determined now not to get her hopes up again.

"He's in very bad shape, Cassandra," Charlene began resolutely. As the Librarian began to groan and shut her eyes, Charlene took a couple of steps toward her and laid a hand on her forearm. "He was in the water a long time. Judson says that he's…he's suffered a great deal of injury. Severe frostbite and exposure, mostly."

"But, that's not so bad!" blurted Cassandra, babbling as she desperately grasped for any shred of good news. "People get frostbite all the time! I had a cousin once who got frostbite on his fingers during the Blizzard of 1978, and he did all right! Nothing to it! He just had to—"

"Cassandra!" barked Charlene sharply, taking the redhead by her shoulders and shaking her none too gently. Cassandra fell silent and stared at her.

"He was almost completely frozen, according to Judson," the Guardian continued, more gently now. "He has sustained a great deal of deep tissue damage."

"But…he's immortal!" Cassandra whimpered. "He'll heal, right?" Charlene saw the confusion on the young woman's face, the unwillingness to believe that anything bad could happen to her husband. Charlene realized then just how much Cassandra worshipped Jenkins, and for a moment she was angry with him. _Oh, Jenkins! How could you become involved with a mortal! How could you put her through this?!_ She quickly pushed her anger to the side and tried to find a way to explain to the younger woman what was going to happen.

"Yes, he will heal—eventually," she said, looking into Cassandra's watering eyes. "But it's going to be a very long process, I'm afraid." She dropped her gaze for a moment.

"It's also going to be a very painful process," she continued, picking her words. She didn't want to upset the Librarian any more than she had to.

"I don't know if Jenkins has explained to you how the healing process works for immortals?" she began.

"A little," answered Cassandra, her voice quavering. "I know that he heals faster than mortals do, but the more serious the injury, the longer it takes. And I know he can't be killed!" Her last words were rushed and forceful, as if she was trying to convince Charlene that Jenkins couldn't be hurt so badly.

"Sit down, dear," ordered the Guardian, leading Cassandra to a chair. Once the Librarian was seated and looking apprehensively up at her, Charlene took a deep breath. There was no easy way to say this, so it was best to simply say it.

"Jenkins has sustained a great deal of tissue damage, as I said," she began steadily. "Judson has seen him. He says that Jenkins's extremities are badly damaged—fingers, ears, nose, probably his feet as well. We won't know the full extent until we're able to get him back to the Library and can examine him fully."

"But…he's _alive_?" Cassandra asked timorously. Charlene sighed again. Cassandra still didn't understand.

"Yes, dear, he _is_ alive," she said. She lowered her head a little and stared into the young woman's eyes. "But for the next several weeks, perhaps even months, he may well wish he wasn't."

"What are you talking about?" Cassandra demanded, her fear turning quickly to frustration. "Just tell me! What's happening?" Charlene sat down opposite her.

"The kind of frostbite I'm talking about isn't the kind you're thinking of," she said soberly. "It's not just your fingers becoming severely cold while you're out clearing snow in wintertime. The kind of frostbite I'm talking about is the sort mountain climbers experience when they're many thousands of feet above sea level. The kind of frostbite that _kills_ living tissue, especially in a person's extremities."

Images suddenly flashed through Cassandra's mind of several gruesome pictures Jake had shown her once of climbers on Mt. Everest who had been severely frostbitten in their hands and feet, even on their faces. Pictures of hands with fingers comprised of nothing more than stumps of dead, dried bone, the flesh having rotted completely away. Faces without noses, heads without ears. Blackened, gangrenous hands and feet that had to be amputated. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as to dispel the horrible images. Charlene was wrong! She had to be wrong!

"But Jenkins is immortal!" she said again, holding on to the idea of his immortality like a talisman. "He'll recover!"

"Yes, he will," confirmed Charlene again patiently, leaning forward to take the Librarian's hands. "But it will be a very long, very painful process. He will probably lose his fingers and toes, more than likely his nose and ears as well, perhaps even more. And as his body thaws and comes back to its normal temperature, every nerve in him will be hypersensitive. It will be excruciatingly painful for him, especially in the beginning. You have to bear in mind that nearly every single cell in his body is either severely damaged or completely destroyed." Cassandra stared back at the older woman as she listened, aghast, tears filling her eyes.

"A_mputations_?" she whispered in horror. "But…he's immortal! He lost some teeth once, they grew back!" She couldn't think clearly as panic began to set into Cassandra.

"Yes, there will likely be amputations, but those parts _will_ regenerate," Charlene hurried to assure her. "It'll be sort of like pruning dead wood off of a tree. It will be a slow process, as I said before, but whatever is removed _will_ regenerate! Eventually, he'll be right as rain again, I promise you!"

As Charlene's grim words sank in, Cassandra began to calm down. Jenkins had survived, and he was not going to die—that's all that mattered to Cassandra. At the moment she could scarcely fathom the kind of physical damage Charlene was describing, but knowing that Jenkins would be well and whole again brought her tremendous relief. She was still anxious for him and the long road toward recovery that he had ahead of him, but one thought overrode everything else at the moment: Jenkins was alive and they were going to be reunited soon!

Charlene sat back in her chair and watched the Librarian's facial expressions change from fear to the beginnings of hope and resolve. Large tears finally slipped from Cassandra's bloodshot eyes and rolled down her pale cheeks, but she only blotted them away with the handkerchief she still clutched in her hands. She then pulled herself up straight in her chair and took a deep breath. Cassandra refused to cry, and Charlene knew that the young woman was choosing to stay strong for her husband. The Guardian could almost hear Cassandra's thoughts as she steeled herself: _Jenkins is going to need me now more than ever, and he's going to need me to be strong!_ Cassandra raised her head and looked at Charlene.

"You never said how soon they will be here," she said in a steady voice. Charlene admired the Librarian's courage, and she couldn't help but to be proud of Jenkins for marrying a woman with so much gumption—even if she _was_ mortal.

"Judson said that they should be arriving at the Library around noon tomorrow," she said. Cassandra stood up and smoothed her long skirts.

"I guess we have some preparations to make, then, right?" she said briskly. Charlene nodded and got to her feet as well.

"Quite a few, actually," she said.

"Well, then, I guess we better get going!" Cassandra said, shrugging her shoulders and letting her hands slap lightly against her sides before brushing past Charlene and heading in the direction of the lab.

The Guardian looked after the Librarian as she hurried away, and shook her head sadly. Judson had said a great deal more than what Cassandra had just heard, but the older woman simply didn't have the heart to tell her the rest of it, at least not yet. _Let her have a few moments of happiness_ Charlene told herself, but deep down Charlene knew she was only being a coward.


	14. The Metropolitan Public Library, 1912

True to his word, Judson arrived at the Library just before noon the next day, driving up to the loading dock at the service entrance located at the rear of the massive building that housed the Metropolitan Public Library. He'd hired a horse-drawn wagon at the train station and had the coffin containing Jenkins loaded onto it. When the driver learned that the coffin held the body of a Titanic "victim", the goodhearted man refused to accept Judson's money, saying he couldn't take it in good conscience for such a job. Rather than argue, Judson merely thanked the man for his kindness, but the Librarian made note of his name and that of the freight company he worked for; there would be an envelope full of cash couriered to the driver in the next couple of days.

The coffin was unloaded and taken inside by several workmen employed by the Library and sworn to absolute secrecy regarding their work there. They carried the heavy, cumbersome box to the lab and set it onto one of the long workbenches prepared by Charlene and Cassandra the day before. As the two Librarians and the Guardian watched in silence, the workmen then pried the coffin apart and removed the pieces, leaving only the canvas-shrouded body of Jenkins behind on the table. Once that was done, Judson stepped forward and dismissed the workmen. When they were gone, he set the canvas bag that contained Jenkins's personal effects on a nearby table, then turned to look at the two women. Charlene's face was set and unreadable. Cassandra struggled to maintain her composure as she stared at the large figure laid out on the table before them.

"Cassandra," he said gently. "Perhaps…perhaps it would be better if you left now. Charlene and I can handle this." When she looked up, Judson was surprised by the fierce determination he saw flashing in her blue eyes.

"No," she said flatly. "I'm not leaving him again!"

"Charlene explained to you what to expect?" he asked, uneasy. "It's…it's not going to be pleasant."

"I don't care," she said. "I want to be here for him. He would do the same for me if things were reversed!"

"V-very well, then," he surrendered. He looked over at his Guardian. "Charlene, if you would help me, please?"

Charlene stepped up to the workbench and picked up a pair of heavy shears lying on a tray of tools that she had set out earlier. As she cut the heavy canvas bag away from Jenkins, Cassandra watched. Judson pulled it away to reveal the nude body of the Caretaker.

"Jenkins!" she whispered, shocked at the sight of her husband. As Judson made a rapid examination, she stared at Jenkins. His normally pale skin was now an unnatural shade of white, giving him a waxy appearance. Large mottled patches of dark blue and purple bruises discolored his body. The damage caused by frostbite could clearly be seen beginning to form, especially in his hands, feet, nose, lips and ears. He had partially thawed on the hours-long trip back to New York, and at some point during the trip back to New York his eyelids half-opened and his lips parted slightly, making him look exactly like a corpse now. Her wide eyes swept over his ravaged body, and Cassandra felt her own body begin to shake. She felt her knees begin to give way, but she quickly gripped the edge of the workbench and forced herself to stay upright. She then realized that Jenkins was naked and completely exposed. She frantically stripping her tiny jacket off and carefully laying it over his groin to preserve his modesty; Jenkins would've been mortified to be caught out naked like this in mixed company. She stood back for a moment, her chest feeling numb and tight as she gazed down at her husband.

"Oh, Jenkins!" she sighed, finally giving in to some of the stress and grief that had been building up for days. She went to him and laid across his body, buried her face in his cold, still chest, softly moaning his name again and again, begging him through tears to wake up, to come back to her. Charlene started to go to her, but Judson held her back, shaking his head slowly.

Cassandra turned her head to the side and laid it on Jenkins's chest, holding the stiff, cold body tightly in her arms as she continued to weep, her quiet tears quickly turning to ugly, choking sobs. Tears streamed from her eyes and onto his waxy skin as she mourned, her heart aching for her beloved knight. It didn't seem possible for him to still be alive in this awful, corpse-like body, but she fiercely told herself that he _was_ alive; their Sealing had said so.

And then she heard it.

A soft, faint, muffled _thump_ coming from within the still man's chest.

Cassandra immediately stopped crying and jerked upright for a moment, stared down at Jenkins for a second, then hurriedly replaced her ear to his chest. Judson and Charlene traded glances.

After several agonizing moments, she again heard at faint _thump_.

She jumped back and looked up at Judson and Charlene.

"I hear his heart!" she cried, finally feeling a true sense of certainty that things were going to be all right. "I hear his heart beating!"

She turned and threw herself onto Jenkins again, this time shedding tears of pure joy and release.

"Jenkins!" she cried, clinging to him as though her life depended on it. "Galahad! I'm here, sweetheart! I'm here! I knew you'd come back! I knew it! Nothing's going to separate us ever again, I swear!" Judson turned his head sharply to look questioningly at Charlene. The Guardian dropped her eyes to the floor.

"I just couldn't tell her, Judson. I'm sorry," she murmured. Cassandra heard the Guardian's words and turned to look at the two of them.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded loudly, suspiciously, her guard going up. She suddenly felt nauseous, and she struggled to keep from giving in to the smothering dread that arose within her. "You couldn't tell me _what_, Charlene?" Instead of the Guardian, however, Judson nervously clasped his hands as he prepared to answer her.

"Jenkins...Jenkins has a very long road ahead of him," he began solemnly, but not unkindly. "He...he's going to be in a great deal of pain, I'm afraid. He was frozen nearly solid, a lot of damage has been done at the cellular level. He'll recover, fully, I expect, but it's going to take a long time to get there—months, probably. Perhaps even a year or two."

"A _year_?" the young redhead breathed. She looked at Jenkins, unmoving and stiff, her hand lying on his chest over his heart. If she focused her attention, she could _just_ feel his heart beating through the palm of her hand. She turned back to Judson.

"Charlene's already told me all of that! And one year or ten years, I don't care!" she said resolutely as she looked him in the eye. She turned back to Jenkins and lightly stroked his cold skin with her fingertips. "We're together now, that's all that matters! I'll take care of him for as long as he needs it!"

"That's my point, Cassandra. You...you _can't_ stay here," said Judson bluntly. "You have to go back to your own time." Cassandra spun around and stared at the small man, stunned.

"What do you mean, I have to go back?" she asked weakly, her head suddenly feeling light, her blood pounding in her ears. Her knees felt wobbly again.

"You can't stay here any longer, Cassandra," he said. He stepped forward and reached out to her, but she backed away from his outstretched hand as if it was a poisonous snake. Judson sighed quietly and lowered his arm.

"Firstly, you know too much about future events, it's too dangerous for you to stay here any longer. Every moment that you remain here, you risk changing the future. Every word you speak and every action you make has the potential to violate the Law of Causality."

"I won't say anything, then!" she said frantically. "I won't say a word about the future!"

"You already have, Cassandra," he said sadly, all trace of a stutter vanished. "Just in the short time you've been here, you've already told us that in the year 2019 there is more than one Librarian. Two of them are named Cassandra Cillian and Flynn. The Guardian's name is Eve. That's _all_ information that Charlene and I should not know. There's no telling how that might affect any decisions we make in the future. And the longer you stay, the greater the danger that something _will_ be revealed that absolutely must not be revealed to us before the proper time." He paused and shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry, Cassandra, but it's imperative that you return to your own century as soon as possible." Judson took another step toward the numb Librarian.

"Secondly, you also need to take the Heart of Sorrow back with you to 2019," he said. "It was found in that year, therefore, it must go back to 2019 and be turned over to the custody of the Library in _that_ year. If it stays here, then your timeline will be permanently altered, maybe even destroyed." Cassandra gaped at him.

"But…how?" she gasped, utterly bewildered. "If it stays here, then that means it will never be found in the wreckage of the Titanic in the 1990's—it won't be part of the Smithsonian's traveling exhibit, Ezekiel won't have to steal it, _I'll_ never touch and set it off, and Jenkins and me will never end up on the Titanic!" She waved one thin arm wildly toward the unconscious man on the table as she babbled on, heedless of the new information regarding future events that she was exposing.

"None of…_this_ will ever happen! Me and Jenkins will be fine! We'll be safe and happy and together…!"

"No!" barked Judson loudly, startling Cassandra into silence. "That's _not_ what it means! Neither you nor the Heart belong in this timeline, neither of you can stay here in _this_ timeline!" Judson held out his hands to take in the young Librarian and the man on the table.

"_This_ Jenkins can't stay because he doesn't belong to _this_ timeline—_our_ Jenkins is in the London Annex right now, in 1912. Neither of you can stay because you know too much about the future. And you _must_ return the Heart to _your_ proper time, as quickly as possible!" Judson said urgently, almost pleadingly.

"But _why_?" demanded Cassandra angrily, glaring at the small man defiantly. "The Stone is already safe inside the Library, it can't do any more harm to anyone! What difference does it make whether it's locked into a vault in 1912 or 2019?"

"Because you discovered it _in 2019_. It took you _from_ 2019\. If you don't take the Heart back to 2019—to its proper timeline—you will spend the rest of eternity suffering unspeakable horrors!" interjected Charlene, coming forward, a look of distress on her face. "Surely Jenkins explained to you what the Heart is?" Cassandra nodded numbly.

"He told us it was kind of like a magical weapon, like a landmine or a bomb," she said, glancing between the two people. "Whoever trips it is sent to a place or time where they have to witness the most horrible thing they can imagine ever happening to them." She looked down and nervously clasped and unclasped her hands. "I guess in my case, it was being separated from Jenkins, of possibly losing him forever…" The Guardian and the Librarian looked at each other, then back at Cassandra. Charlene took a quick breath and then dived into an explanation.

"The Heart of Sorrow _is_ a weapon, and a cruel one," she said, her voice hard and sharp. "It doesn't just force one to experience the loss of one's loved ones. It forces one to suffer the same horrible loss over and over again." She paused to let her words sink in, and Cassandra's mouth dropped slightly open as she stared in astonishment at the Guardian.

"What?!" she gasped, all of her limbs going cold and numb at the thought of having to say good-bye to Jenkins all over again.

"This Heart of Sorrow was designed to work _repeatedly_, not just once, as with most of the other Heart Stones," explained Judson gravely. "This particular Heart…_tortures_ its victims, delights in it, in fact. It forces them to suffer over and over again and it feeds off of their anguish. This time you almost lost Jenkins on the Titanic; the next time you could lose him to a concentration camp during World War Two, or _you_ could be burned at the stake as a witch or a heretic during the Inquisition. And each time, you'll both have to witness the other's suffering. The Stone will feed off of your misery and sorrow, and it will grow stronger each time."

"But…Jenkins is immortal…" Cassandra said, barely whispering.

"Which only means that _both_ of you will suffer, _forever_," said Judson, his voice unyielding, but his eyes were full of compassion. "The Stone knew you and it knew Jenkins was your weakness, the moment it entered your Annex. It knew that Jenkins would try to save you. It focused its attention on you because it could sense the Old Magic you carry but haven't begun to master yet, and it fed off of _that_ as well." Judson lowered his voice and continued to deliver his frightful news.

"In every way, Cassandra, it manipulated _you_ in order to achieve the perfect victims—a _mortal_ possessing powerful Magic, deeply in love with and attached to an _immortal_. The Stone has the potential now to literally feed forever!" Cassandra stared at the Librarian, utterly horrified by what she had done.

"All the more reason for it to stay here, right now, locked up in the Library!" she cried, a feeling of nausea overwhelming her. Judson shook his head.

"That won't work," he said. "It will find a way to seduce and trick you into touching it and activating it again and again. It's already tried once. You were lucky to shake off its influence that time, but that's only because it's still very weak right now. But it's feeding off of your Magic and off of your grief for Jenkins, and its strength is growing. It will continue to try and trick you now, while you're still too magically weak yourself to fend off its attacks."

"Bringing it to the Library has bought you some time, but it won't last forever," said Charlene. "You _must_ try to understand this, Cassandra: This Heart of Sorrow that was triggered in 2019 doesn't belong in _this_ timeline—the Heart of Sorrow of 1912 has already gone to the bottom of the sea with the Titanic to be discovered in the future. The magic of _this_ Library won't be able to negate the power _your_ uncovered Stone for very long. To _your_ Heart Stone, 1912 and everything in it is only a shadow in the past, and therefore only as strong as a shadow; it was activated in 2019, so only the Library in 2019 can completely neutralize its evil magic. The sooner you go back to your own time—and take the Heart of Sorrow with you—the better! For you, for Jenkins, the Library—for the whole world!"

"But…I can't just leave Jenkins! Not again! He needs me!" she began faintly, tears pooling in her eyes as she stared at them, her head spinning with all the ins and outs of this damned Stone and the timelines involved. Charlene went to her take the young woman's cold, pale hands in hers, looked directly into her eyes.

"You're a Librarian, Cassandra," the Guardian said somberly. "You have a _duty_. You must see that the Heart gets safely to the Library of your own time, so that nothing like this can _ever_ happen again, to you or anyone else."

Cassandra gasped harshly at the woman's words, almost exactly the same as those used by Jenkins as he tried to talk her into getting into the lifeboat. She felt as though all of the air had been sucked out of her lungs, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. She backed away from Charlene on unsteady feet. _Duty!_ A Librarian's duty. What about her duty as a wife, what about her duty and loyalty to Jenkins? But Cassandra already knew in her heart that if he were able to speak, Jenkins would agree with Charlene. She could almost hear his sternly rumbling voice again in her ears as he taught the LITs that first year in the Library: _You must become greater than yourselves! A Librarian must make friends with danger, must learn to fight with his—or her—body and mind! A Librarian is __**more**__ than a person. A Librarian is a shining beacon, reminding us of the best Humanity has to offer. A_ _Librarian's duty lies in constant, continuous self-sacrifice for the good of that same Humanity!_

She also knew that if he could hear her thoughts now, Jenkins would be furious with her for putting him before the safety of the world. Worse, he would be _disappointed_ in her. Cassandra raised her head and took a deep, slow breath.

"You can heal him?" she asked with determination, though her voice quavered and her eyes glistened with tears. Judson nodded.

"Yes, it…it'll just take time, that's all," he assured her. His stutter returned now that he was confident Cassandra understood the seriousness of her position. "We'll send him back to 2019 as soon as he's strong enough."

"How?" she asked, frowning. "Flynn said that you can only travel backwards in Time, never forward. How can either of us go back to where we belong?"

"As…as clever as your Flynn must be, he clearly doesn't know very much about time travel," replied Judson. "We have a…a time machine."

"A time machine!" exclaimed Cassandra, her eyes flying open wide. "But, Flynn said…"

"What…whatever this Flynn person told you, you need to simply forget it right now," interrupted Judson irritably. "It doesn't apply here!" Cassandra's mouth snapped shut and she looked at him expectantly, chagrined. Judson adjusted his suit coat.

"Now, where was I? Oh, yes," he continued, calm again. "We have the only working time machine at the moment—the…the prototype constructed by Mr. H.G. Wells."

"The _novelist_?" asked the young Librarian in surprise. "He built it _himself_?"

"N-no, not exactly," stammered Judson, suddenly uneasy. He exchanged a nervous glance with Charlene.

"Mr. Wells is actually a writer from…from the future, the same time frame as his novel was set, in fact, though it's not quite as frightening as he depicted it in the novel. He was sent to the Nineteenth Century in a laboratory mishap, and he…he wrote his science fiction novels as a way to earn the funds he needed to have an actual…an actual time machine built. So that he could return home, you see. Which…which would've been perfectly acceptable, except that after it was finished he…he killed everyone even remotely involved with the project so as to protect his identity and…and to keep the secret of time travel…well…_secret_."

"What!?" yelped Cassandra, astounded.

"Oh, he didn't get away with it, dear," Charlene hurried to assure her, misreading her reaction. "The Library has him incarcerated in the dungeons! After a proper trial, that is. And we exchanged him for a doppelganger so that no one outside of the Library would be suspicious of his sudden disappearance."

"You just…_replaced_ him?" asked the Librarian in a tiny voice. "No one suspects it's not really him? His friends? His family...?" The Guardian looked askance at her.

"It's never been a problem with any of the others we've hired doppelgangers for," she said, somewhat defensive.

"_Others_?" echoed Cassandra faintly, her mind spinning at the idea. Who else had the Library snatched off the streets and "replaced"? She shook her head furiously and held up her hands. "Never mind; I don't want to know!"

"Smart woman," muttered Charlene.

"Anyway…we have a time machine," said Judson again, trying to steer the conversation back to the situation at hand. "It has a rather…rather nasty drift on it of a two or three years on either side of the target date, though; we'll need to…to get that worked out first. But then we…we can use it to send you and the Heart back to the year 2019. It has an automatic recall setting, it can be set to return to 1912 as soon as…as soon as it's delivered you safely back where you belong."

"And then you can use it to send Jenkins back when he's well enough?" Cassandra asked anxiously. Judson nodded.

"Exactly…exactly the same way," he confirmed. Cassandra walked slowly to stand next the deathly-still body of her husband. She reached out her hand to brush her fingers against his cold, chalk-white cheek. Her eyes swept his cold-damaged limbs, remembered his words again on the sinking ship: _You're a Librarian! You have a duty!_

A small, sad half-smile came to her lips. Jenkins was all about duty—so long as it meant that someone else was kept safe. If duty clashed with doing what was _right_, however, he was the first one to throw duty under the proverbial bus. How many times had he disregarded "duty" in favor of saving her and the team? How many times had he also sacrificed _his_ wants and desires for the benefit of others? How could she do any less?

With a sigh, she took his hand and clutched it tightly, then looked up at the elder Librarian and his Guardian.

"Can I at least stay until he's awake?" she asked, her eyes pleading. "I want to say good-bye to him, explain things to him—just so he knows that I haven't abandoned him?" Judson opened his mouth, but Charlene turned her head and pinned him with her fiercest Guardian glare.

"Of course you can, dear," she said kindly, her blue eyes never leaving Judson. "Judson and I will need time to prepare the time machine, anyway." She turned her head to look at the young woman, much to Judson's relief.

"Why don't you get some rest, too, until the machine's ready?" she encouraged. Cassandra shook her head.

"No, I'm going to stay here and wait," she said, looking back at Jenkins. "I want to spend every second with him that I can." Judson opened his mouth again, but Charlene reached out and grabbed his arm, squeezing it painfully in warning.

"That'll be fine, then, dear," she said kindly. She turned her attention to the Librarian next to her, hustling the small man forcibly from the room.

"Come along, Judson. Let's leave these two alone for a while and go work on that machine, shall we?"


	15. The Metropolitan Public Library, 1912

Cassandra spent hours with Jenkins, alternating between quietly weeping and worn-out silence, her head resting on his chest, listening as his heartbeat slowly strengthened and quickened within him. When she finally lifted her head, her temples throbbed with pain and fatigue. She held one of her husband's large hands in hers, careful not to hold onto him too tightly for fear of hurting his already badly damaged fingers. She could see them beginning to swell and change color already as his body's temperature continued to rise, the skin of his hands going from white to a deep red color. Blisters were also beginning to form, on his fingers and on the other frostbitten areas. Though she knew she shouldn't be touching him, she couldn't restrain herself. Who knew when she would see him again? She reached out and lightly touched his cool face.

"You saved me, sweetheart—I owe you my life," she murmured, smiling weakly, hoping that he could somehow hear her despite his comatose state. "And I did what you told me to; I came to the Library as soon as I could. I fulfilled my duty, at least that part of it, anyway." Tears welled and spilled over her thin cheeks. She moved her hand up to gently comb his stiff, tangled hair with her fingers as best she could into his usual hairstyle.

"Judson says I can't stay," she whispered, her throat closing around the large lump caught there. "He says that I have to go back to our own time, that it's too dangerous for me to stay here any longer. But I don't want to leave you, not again!" She leaned forward to rest her forehead against his side again and wept, utterly miserable at the prospect of being separated from her beloved a second time. She lifted her head and sighed as she looked down at Jenkins, his face blurred by her tears.

"But, I guess that's part of a Librarian's duty, too, huh?" she asked the silent immortal. She smiled a tiny bit. "I wish you could see me right now! You'd be so proud of me and all of the dutiful Librarianing I've been doing lately!"

A choked half-laugh escaped Cassandra as the image of the disapproving glower he always gave her whenever she used the word "Librarianing" came instantly to mind. She reached out again to lightly brush his damaged cheek with the backs of her fingers, her smooth face quickly twisting into a mask of grief as a sob escaped her.

"I don't want to leave you, Galahad!" she whimpered again, her head falling back onto his chest. "I love you so much! I don't us to be separated again! Not now, we just found each other again! This is all my fault, and I'm so sorry, sweetheart! Please—_please_ get well soon so you can come find me again! _Please_! I don't want to live the rest of my life without you! I can't!" She stretched her arms around him to hold onto him as best she could, and wept quietly.

"Cassandra." Charlene's quiet voice came to the grieving young Librarian from the entrance to the lab. "I'm sorry, dear, but the machine is ready. It's time for you to go, I'm afraid."

Cassandra, her heart full of sorrow to the breaking point, only tightened her hold on Jenkins as her sobs intensified.

* * *

Cassandra climbed up onto the fabulously gaudy contraption carefully, mindful of her healing but still sore ankle. Judson held her hand to help her up and into the chair.

"You don't have to do anything," he assured her while she settled into the chair. "All…all of the controls have been set. All you have to do is…is to sit still and let the machine do all the work."

"And remember, Cassandra: As soon as the machine comes to a rest, get off of it—fast! As soon as you leave the machine, it will automatically return here," instructed Charlene, hovering behind Judson anxiously. "Everything _should_ work perfectly, but just in case, it's best not to dally!" Cassandra nodded in acknowledgement of the Guardian's warning. Judson reached into his pocket and pulled out the glyph-covered box that contained the Heart of Sorrow.

"Take this," he said, putting it into her hand without waiting for a reply. He wrapped her fingers around the box and pressed them tightly for a moment. He looked into her nervous blue eyes, then patted her clenched hand encouragingly.

"Don't worry, Cassandra, everything is going to be just fine. Just…just make sure that this is locked into the most secure location inside of your Library the moment you step off of the time machine! No delays! And another thing: Always be on time for an appointment!" The young woman, puzzled by the odd comment, gave him a faint smile.

"I will, Mr. Judson," she promised. "Thank you for everything, and thank you, too, Charlene. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been here for me!" The young woman paused and looked at the two immortals, a hesitant expression on her face. "And…please send Jenkins home soon. And tell him that I love him! Tell that I wished I could've been here when he woke up, but I…I…" She dropped her head quickly, blinking furiously against the fresh tears that threatened to overtake her again. Judson smiled warmly.

"I will," he promised in return, then cast a glance at Charlene. "_We_ will." He let go of her hand and made one final check of the time machine's instrument panel. When he was finished, he looked up at Cassandra.

"Ready?" he asked. Cassandra took a deep breath.

"Ready!"

Judson pressed a pair of buttons and then threw a lever. As the machine glowed and whirred slowly to life, he stepped back quickly from the machine so as not to be caught up in its field of activity.

"Good luck, Cassandra!" called Charlene, waving at the clearly terrified woman.

Cassandra couldn't hear her, though, over the increasing hum of the time machine as it powered up. Her skin tingled and began to itch, and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck and on her arms rise. She gripped the edge of her chair tightly with her one free hand, the other one gripping the magical box so tightly that its edges bit deeply into her palm. The goldish, crackling haze that now surrounded her became brighter and denser until it completely blinded her and blocked out all view of the Library of 1912. She felt dizzy and nauseous; she feared that she was going to vomit as she and the time machine seemed to become incorporeal in preparation for the rush through the wormhole through Time—and hopefully back to the same Library of 2019 that she had left.

She clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut in hopes of easing the feeling of dizziness. As the air snapped and thrummed around her, she felt a burning sensation in the hand that painfully clutched the box containing the Heart of Sorrow, and a soft, melodious, terrifying voice suddenly sounded inside of her skull.

_Cassandraaaaaaa!_


	16. The Portland Annex, 2019

Eve Bard and the three remaining Librarians tripped through the Back Door and into a room made entirely of marble in Florence, Italy. Fortunately, the area where they emerged was devoid of potential eyewitnesses, and as the team oriented themselves everyone except Eve was surprised to find the walls covered with slabs of stone bearing names and dates. In the distance they could hear the sounds of quiet sniffles, hushed conversations and the echoes of careful, respectful footsteps. Ezekiel took in their surroundings and then turned to Eve, a slightly concerned look wrinkling his smooth face.

"Um, _where_ the hell are we, and, more importantly, _why_ the hell are we _here_?" he stage whispered anxiously. Baird shot him a warning look.

"A cemetery," she answered quietly. "The mausoleum section." She waved her hands to bring them into a tight huddle. "And we're here because I know where we can find an artifact that can help us locate Jenkins and Cassandra! Come on!" As she broke from the huddle and began to stride confidently away, Flynn cocked his head, puzzled, then hurried off after the Guardian, waving at the other two to follow him.

Eve led them directly to a section facing a long wall of windows that provided a beautiful view of a garden outside. She slowed her steps as she ran her eyes along one row of crypts for a couple of minutes, while the men trailed after her.

"Ha!" she exclaimed quietly, then hurried to one particular crypt. As the others peered around her to see the name on the facing stone, Flynn gasped loudly behind her, then clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide with astonishment.

_Nicole Noone, 1543-1579_

"Nicole!?" breathed Flynn behind his hands. Eve pressed her lips together for a moment before she pulled up the pant-leg on her right leg and drew a small pry-bar out of her boot.

"Don't worry, Flynn; it's not what it looks like. Stone, Jones—keep a look out!"

She inserted the end of the pry-bar into the seam of the facing stone and began to work it out of position. Jake looked back and saw what she was doing.

"_What the hell_, Baird!?" he hissed as he looked around frantically to make sure there was no one else around. "Since when did we become grave robbers?!"

"Relax, Stone," the Guardian murmured. She gave the stone one final wrench and it popped free. Flynn automatically raised his hands to catch it before it could crash to the marble flooring below. "No one's robbing anyone's grave! We're just going to _'borrow'_ something…"

While Flynn eased the facing stone to the floor, Eve reached into the crypt and began pulling out several metal boxes. The men were confused when they saw no coffin or urn inside.

"Nicole's immortal, remember?" Eve reminded them as she dug through the contents of the crypt. "I remember from the other timeline; she told me that she had false graves scattered all over the world containing magical artifacts that she had taken from the Library, just in case she needed them in an emergency." She peered into the dark cavity for a moment, then reached into the opening as far as her arm would go, grunting as she struggled to reach something deep inside the "grave". "I remembered one artifact in particular that she showed me in this grave in the other timeline, and I'm hoping that it's also here in _this_ timeline!" She gritted her teeth and strained as she partially wedged her shoulder into the tight space to extend her reach.

"You never mentioned anything about that!" said Flynn accusingly. Eve shot him a quick grin and shrugged awkwardly.

"Must've slipped my mind!" she replied. She gasped suddenly as her fingers finally touched the object she sought. "Yes!" She slowly dragged it forward with her fingers, then grabbed it as soon as she could get her hand on it. Eve smiled triumphantly as she pulled one last old metal box out of the crypt and began to brush the dust and cobwebs off of it. She carried it over to a small stone bench and set the box in her lap to open it.

"What is it?" asked Flynn curiously as he sat down next to her, his irritation at being kept in the dark gone now. Baird opened the box and carefully lifted the artifact out of it: An ancient stone tablet with a matching stone stylus.

"The Tablet of Apollo!" she breathed, elated. "_This_ can show us where Cass and Jenkins are!" She moved the metal box to the floor and laid the tablet on her lap, taking up the fat stone stylus in her hand.

"How does it work?" asked Stone as he drifted over to the pair, intrigued by the artifact. Eve glanced up sharply.

"Watch our back, Stone!" she ordered, and he backed up to his original position, glancing nervously for any potential interruptions. Eve turned back to the tablet. She raised the stylus and closed her eyes for moment, carefully forming her question. When she was ready, she opened her eyes and began to write on the blank surface of the stone, saying the question out loud for the benefit of Jake and Ezekiel.

"_Where is Cassandra Cillian Jenkins right now?"_

As she wrote, the words appeared on the tablet's face, then disappeared, as if absorbed by the stone tablet. A moment later, dark lines began to appear, quickly connecting and spreading over the entire surface of the tablet as a picture began to form before their eyes, the image of a large building with a wide set of stairs leading up to its colonnaded facade. Flanking the entrance to the building were two massive lions, dozing lazily with their heads resting on their crossed paws.

"The Library!" gasped Flynn in a mixture of amazement and joy. "She's in the Library!" Jake pumped his fist and grinned as he mouth the word 'yes', just as relieved as Flynn, while Ezekiel merely closed his eyes and heaved a deep, quiet sigh. Eve could feel a lump begin to form in her throat. _Cassandra made it to the Library; she's okay!_

As if sensing that she wanted to ask another question, the line sketch of the Library faded back into the stone. Eve cast an anxious look at Flynn as she adjusted the stylus in her hand, then began to write a second time.

"_Where is Jenkins right now?"_

Again, the words faded. There was a much longer pause this time, as if the tablet was pondering on the question. Just as the Guardian was beginning to worry that they might not get an answer that they wanted to hear, one solid, thick line appeared and divided the tablet into two halves. After another pause, thinner lines appeared in both halves, frenetically drawing what eventually could be seen to be two completely different pictures. The top half again depicted the front of the Library. The bottom half, however, depicted a completely different building, this one with a distinctly European appearance. Eve looked over at her husband.

"Why are there two pictures?" she asked. Flynn's brow furrowed for a moment as he puzzled through the possibilities. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers.

"That's because Jenkins, right now, is in two different places!" he exclaimed. He lightly tapped the bottom picture. "Remember? In 1912, Jenkins spent most of his time in the London Annex! But right now, he's _also_ in the Library—"

"Which means he made it off of the Titanic, too!" Eve said excitedly, her eyes shining at the thought that both of her friends were at least safe. The hesitancy in Flynn's eye, though, quickly dampened her joy. "What? What is it, Flynn?"

"We only know _where_ he is; the tablet can't tell us if he's hurt or…" the Librarian's voice trailed off. He shrugged. "We don't even know for sure if Cassandra is alive, either, only that she's at the Library." Eve stared at him, her frustration mounting.

"Hey!" hissed Jacob loudly. "Incoming!" Eve jumped up and quickly replaced the tablet and stylus back into the metal box.

"Good pep talk, Flynn!" she growled sarcastically, then hurried to shove everything back into the crypt and seal it back up as fast as possible before they were caught.

* * *

Days turned into weeks. As Eve pondered on the situation, she became convinced that Jenkins would've seen to it that Cassandra made it off of the Titanic and to the safety of the Library. And if Cassandra had made it to the Library and she was physically able to do so, she would have made sure to leave her friends a message of some kind letting them know that she was at least alive and all right.

After Eve explained her hypothesis to the team, everyone racked their brains in an attempt to try and guess where the missing Librarian might have left such a message, but everywhere they looked, they came up empty-handed. Every member of the team went over every scrap of paper, every photograph, every recorded account of the sinking of the Titanic that the Library owned, time and again, and still nothing. They searched the suite of rooms Jenkins and Cassandra shared, thinking there might be something hidden there, but could find nothing. They searched the records of other institutions and historical societies with the slightest connection to the Titanic, but still they found nothing. It was if their friends had, indeed, simply disappeared from the face of the earth.

As much as they resisted it, everyday life in the Library insisted on continuing. The Clippings Book periodically rattled on its stand demandingly as new missions continued to come in on a regular basis. New threats continued to crop up all around the world, pulling them away from their desperate hunt for word from their missing friends. At first, one member would remain behind, dedicated to continuing the search while the others handled the new missions. But they were quickly forced to abandon that plan; the team was already short-handed and they couldn't cope with the workload unless everyone was on board. Flynn shook his head one day as he wondered to himself how on earth he'd been able to work alone for so long as the only Librarian, without even a Guardian for support.

Every free moment they had, they all continued to search for a message from Jenkins and Cassandra, though those times were becoming less and less frequent. Eve, Flynn and Ezekiel still felt pangs of guilt for not being able to bring them home. They felt powerless, and now they were beginning to feel like traitors for letting little bits of "normality" slip back into their lives—going to bed early or sleeping in late rather than spending the time going over the Titanic's passenger lists one more time; cracking a joke or laughing at one instead of going through the mathematics texts for any coded messages from Cassandra; each of them catching himself or herself thinking about something else totally unrelated to the Library or to Jenkins or Cassandra.

Jake, on the other hand, continued to doggedly search for any clues from his friends, growing more moody and frustrated with each passing day, often withdrawing from the others for hours at a time. He would never admit it to anyone, but over the years he had grown to love Jenkins like a father. He loved Cassandra, too, as a friend and a colleague, but it was the loss of Jenkins and the idea that he might never see the old man again that was tearing him up inside. As a way to cope with his feelings of helplessness in the situation, he channeled them into taking up the day to day care of Franklin, "Just 'til Jenkins gets back", coaxing him to eat and even going so far as to drape the forlorn little dragon over his own shoulders while he worked, just as Jenkins always did.

Finally, one day, a little over two months after the two were taken, Flynn called the others together for a meeting.

"I think it's time we faced reality here," he said bluntly, looking around at the tiny group. "Jenkins and Cassandra aren't coming back." Jacob immediately pounded his fist on the table as he jumped up and jabbed his finger at the Librarian.

"No!" he shouted, glaring angrily. "No! We're not havin' this argument again! I'm not gonna abandon them! They're dependin' on us to bring 'em home!"

"Maybe...maybe Flynn's right," said Ezekiel quietly. "We've tried everything, we've looked everywhere. How can we bring them home if we're not even sure they're alive?" Jake whirled around to glare at the thief.

"I don't believe you, man!" he spat, disgusted. "You're just gonna give up on 'em, just like that? What if it was _you_ that got taken, Jones, huh? Would you want the rest of us to give up lookin' for _you_? Would you want us to just give up tryin' to bring _you_ back home?"

"Yeah, I would!" Ezekiel shot back defiantly, stung by his friend's words. "I wouldn't want any of you to waste your lives on my account trying to do the impossible! And what else are we supposed to do, Stone? We've looked _every_where! We've tried _every_thing! For weeks we've been looking, and we're no closer to finding anything from them or to bringing them back to our Library now than when we started! Just _what_ the hell else are we supposed to bloody do now?!"

"There's nothing else we can do," said Flynn, his voice calm as he anxiously rubbed his hands over his tired-looking face. "Jones is right; we've done everything we can. We've just...failed. That's all; we've just failed. I think we have to accept the fact that we've failed, and move on." His shoulders slumped as he took a deep breath.

"We're Librarians," he continued doggedly, trying hard to keep his voice emotionless. "Librarians are lost all the time. Librarians are lost. Librarians…die." He dropped his head for a moment, then pulled it back up with deep intake of air. "But the Library continues. And so do we. I think maybe it's time we...held a memorial service of some kind..."

As Flynn spoke, Jake turned and paced next to the table in agitation, his fists clenching and unclenching. The moment he heard the word "memorial", he spun around and stared daggers at Carsen, raising his hand and jabbing his finger in the older man's direction again.

"Don't you say that word to me!" he growled, his voice low and threatening at the beginning, but rising in volume as he spoke until he was practically shouting. "Don't you even _think_ it, you traitor, or so help me God I'll rip your tongue out of your head and shove it so far down your throat that you'll be able to taste my boot-leather as I kick your weak ass all the way to the Gates of Hell!"

"Jacob!" gasped Eve, stunned.

"Stone, I understand that you're upset," said Flynn, frustration creeping into his voice. "But we can't just live in denial about this, we have to accept..."

"I don't have to accept _nuthin'_!" bellowed the historian, his eyes growing misty and his voice beginning to crack slightly. "You can take your 'acceptance' and you can just go _fuck_ yourself with it! 'Cause _I'm_ not givin' up on 'em, you hear me? Huh? You hear me, Carsen?! 'Cause that's what _real_ family does—they don't give up on each other! Not now, not ever!"

"Are you finished with your little display of bravado, now?" asked Carsen snidely. "Can the rest of us get down the business of facing reality and putting this behind us?"

"Put _this_ behind you, ya son of a bitch!" Jake spat and rushed toward Flynn, his fist raised, while Carsen snatched an artifact from the table and held it like a baseball bat, ready to defend himself.

"_Enough_!" yelled Eve as she jumped up from her chair and held her arms out to keep the two separated. "Stop it, _both_ of you!" Jake pulled up and lowered his fist, though he refused to stop staring angrily at Flynn. The older Librarian lowered his weapon and dropped it back onto the table. Eve looked back and forth between the two would-be combatants.

"Now, as the Guardian of this Library, I'm telling you all that no one is going to beat anyone else here up," she declared, looking sternly at Jacob until he finally dropped his gaze and went submissively back to his seat and sat down. Flynn smiled in triumph.

"And as the _Tethered_ Guardian of this Library, I'm telling _you_ that we aren't giving up on anyone, ever!" she said, turning her withering gaze onto Carsen. Flynn opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

"We are not giving up on them!" she repeated firmly. "I'm a soldier, Flynn, and soldiers don't leave a man behind! We don't just write them off and move on, _ever_. We keep looking for them, no matter how long it takes or how the search ends, and that's what we're going to do now. If it takes the rest of our lives, we're going to keep looking for a way to bring Jenkins and Cassandra home. Period." Flynn looked at the two younger Librarians and saw that it was Jacob now who wore a triumphant grin. He looked back at his Guardian wife, then raised his arms and let them fall limply to his sides in a gesture of helplessness.

"So what do we do now, Eve?" he demanded. "We've looked everywhere we can think of for a way to bring them back, we've tried thinking outside and inside and above and below and beside the box, and we've come up empty. There's nowhere else to look!" He dropped into his chair and rubbed his face with both hands. "And if they could've communicated with us, they would've done it and we would've found _that_ by now. But we haven't. Jenkins is immortal, he'll eventually return to 2019 by the long way, but Cassandra..."

"Who says they _didn't_ let us know?" interjected Eve suddenly, her body tensing as she looked around the table at the others. "Just because we haven't found anything, that doesn't mean that they didn't; it only means that we haven't found it yet!" Jake stared intently at the Guardian, instantly picking up on something in her tone of voice.

"You think they _did_ send us a message, like Flynn sent himself a message about Shakespeare's broken staff from the Sixteenth Century," he said, excitement in having an ally coloring his voice.

"But _where_?" asked Ezekiel, frustrated. "There's _nothing_ in any of the records we've seen so far." Eve walked slowly around the table.

"Let's think about this," she said, musing aloud. "A message over a century old, meant to be found, but not until the correct time. _Where_ would Cassandra or Jenkins hide that message?"

As the desultory group sat in the center of the room and wondered what to do next, Ezekiel suddenly reached out and slapped Stone's arm.

"What?" snapped Jake irritably, turning to glare at the thief. He was surprised to see a wide grin on the Australian's face as he stared at something in front of him. "What're _you_ lookin' at?"

"First rule of thievery—you want to hide something, hide it plain sight!" Jones said. He looked over at Flynn. "How many cards total are there in that card catalog, mate?" Carsen's eyes lit up.

"Thousands!" he said excitedly. "_Tens_ of thousands!"

"And what're the odds of someone accidentally coming across _one_ single card that's not really supposed to be there?" Jones asked, his black eyes sweeping around the group.

"Millions to one," answered Flynn, slapping his hands together with glee. "_Tens_ of millions! _Hundreds_, even!"

"It's gotta be in there!" agreed Stone eagerly. "The only question now is, which drawer do we look in?"

"Divide and conquer," said Eve, looking at the two younger Librarians. "We'll start with the most obvious and go from there. Pull the drawers for 'C' and 'J' and we'll start by looking under their names!"

* * *

"_Dammit_! I was so _sure_ we'd find something!" Eve groaned in disappointment five hours later. She shoved the "G" drawer across the table in disgust, then rubbed her tired eyes.

"I thought so, too," muttered Jacob. "It makes perfect sense! Maybe we're just not lookin' in the right drawer?"

"We've looked in every bloody drawer that makes sense," shot back Ezekiel angrily, disappointed that his idea hadn't panned out. "We looked under both of their names, under all possible spellings and configurations; we looked under anything that has _anything_ to do with math, physics, knighthood, the Dark and Middle Ages, Camelot, magic and science in general; we looked up every single card that even mentions the Titanic or her survivors—face it, Stone, I was wrong. There's _squat_ in the card catalog!" He shoved the drawer he'd been working on so hard that it shot across the table and fell to the floor on the other side with a loud clatter, cards spilling across the wooden flooring.

"Okay, look, we're reached the end of the line for today. We're tired," sighed Eve. "Let's get something to eat, get Thistle and Franklin taken care of, and then get some sleep; we can try again fresh in the morning." The men stood up with her and, grumbling morosely at the day's failure, moved off to the kitchen to scrounge up some food before heading home. No one bothered to pick up any of the wreckage scattered on the tables and the floor of the workroom.

* * *

"_Before I go..." said Charlene, and turned to the three somber young Librarians. "Jacob, Cassandra, Ezekiel—you all have such __**amazing**__ gifts! I'm sure the Library will be in good hands!" She then turned her attention to Eve, coming to stand directly in front of her. Eve looked down into Charlene's bright blue eyes. She saw sadness there at having to leave them, leave Jenkins, the Library. But Eve also saw happiness and excitement at Charlene's coming reunion with the true love of her life. _

"_Guardian," said Charlene, and Eve nodded in acknowledgment._

"_Guardian."_

_Charlene then stood on her toes to reach the much taller Guardian's ear, and began to whisper to Eve._

"'_The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells is my favorite book!"_

Eve Baird eyes popped open and she sat up in bed with a gasp, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest. It took her a moment as she looked around the dark bedroom of her and Flynn's apartment to realize that she'd only been dreaming about Charlene and the day she passed through the mirror after saving the Monkey King and Shangri-La. Eve sucked in her breath and held it as she forced herself to recall details of the dream. She heard the former Guardian's final, mystifying words to her again.

'_The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells is my favorite book!_

Baird gasped again, loudly, and her heart began to beat faster.

"FLYNN!" Eve grabbed the snoring form of her husband lying next to her and began shaking him frantically awake. With her other hand she grabbed her phone off of the nightstand to call Jacob and Ezekiel.

"FLYNN! _Flynn!_ Wake up! I know where to find Cassandra and Jenkins's message!"

* * *

The Guardian looked around the small semi-circle of bleary-eyed Librarians as they stood in front of her in the Annex workroom. Everyone had clearly dressed hastily, and it looked as though no one had stopped long enough to even run a comb through his hair before heading off to the Annex. Franklin, still keeping his vigil from atop Jenkins's desk, had stirred for a moment when the Back Door activated, raising his head, eyes blinking excitedly as he watched the door closely. But as soon as he saw that it wasn't Jenkins or Cassandra coming it through it, the little reptile laid his head down again with soft thump, a sad whine sounding in his throat.

"So why are we all here at 0-dark-thirty?" grumbled Jones, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I had a dream," answered Eve, her voice urgent. Ezekiel stopped rubbing his eyes and stared back her, blinking rapidly as he tried to make them focus.

"You had a _what_?" he asked. "And if you say 'dream' again, I'm going to punch you in the throat, Guardian or not!"

"No, no—listen!" Eve hurried on. "I had a dream about Charlene, on the day she passed through the mirror. She whispered something in my ear, but at the time it didn't make any sense, and then I completely forgot about it. But in my dream, she whispered it to me again—and _now_ I understand what she meant!" Three pairs of glazed eyes stared back at her blankly. Ezekiel made a show of slowly making a fist.

"_Listen_!" said Eve, rolling her eyes at the Australian. "When she was saying her goodbyes, she whispered something in my ear. It made absolutely _no_ sense at the time, but I heard her say it again in my dream, and suddenly it just all fell into place!"

"So what'd she say?" asked Jacob, a look of uncertainty on his face.

"'_The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells is my favorite book'," _repeated Baird, her excitement mounting. The three men exchanged questioning sideways glances.

"I'm serious!" said Eve. "I didn't understand at the time why she would say something like that, I thought it was just some kind of weird 'Guardian humor' or something, and then I forgot all about it when the stuff with Apep happened, and then all the stuff with Nicole Noone…"

"But…it…makes perfect sense to you _now_?" asked Ezekiel, not even trying to hide his disdain. Baird looked around at the confused Librarians.

"Don't you guys get it?" she exclaimed, waving her hands in frustration. "She was giving me a _message_!" Flynn's eyes suddenly went wide and a startled look came to his face as understanding suddenly struck him.

"OH!" he shouted. "Of course! _Why_ didn't I think of it earlier?!" He turned and looked at Jake and Ezekiel, and seeing their bewilderment, almost screamed his revelation. "_Judson and Charlene were in the Library in 1912_!"

"They were in the Library in 1912!" echoed Jake, understanding now downing on him as well. He turned to look at Jones. "_They_ were in the Library when the Titanic sank!"

"So if Cassandra and Jenkins made if off the ship, Judson and Charlene would've known all this time about it," said the Australian cautiously as he followed their line of thought. "But why didn't Charlene just come out and tell us what was going to happen?"

"It would've been a violation of the Law of Causality," answered Flynn as he rubbed his chin. "But when she realized that she was going to have to…leave the Library, she knew we would still need the information she carried, so she entrusted it to _another Guardian_." He nudged Stone standing next to him.

"Go to the catalog and look up 'The Time Machine'," he instructed the historian. Jake instantly bounded over to the card catalog and began searching through the "T" drawer. Flynn looked at Eve and Ezekiel, a huge grin rejuvenating his face.

"I think there just might be something we can do on our end, after all!" the Librarian said with glee, slapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly.

* * *

There only one single card in the catalog, which meant there was only one single book in the whole of the Library entitled "The Time Machine". The moment Jake had the location of Charlene's book written down, the team ran through the Library as fast as they could, each of them anxiously hoping that they might finally have something concrete that they could do to help their lost friends return safely home again. Ezekiel was the fastest runner of the group, and he led them through the dizzying maze of corridors and aisles until he finally skidded to a halt at the end of one particular range of books.

"Here!" he called to the others. "It should be here!" As Stone ran up to him, he dug the scrap of paper out of his pocket.

"Section GK, row 27, shelf t8," he read, checking the identifying range plate on the massive section of shelving. He then darted between two ranges, his head swiveling back and forth as he sought the appropriate row, then the shelf, the others trailing along excitedly behind him. He almost caused a small pile-up when he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"Here!" he barked a second time. He reached out and plucked a small book from the shelf. It was barely bigger than his hand, bound in a plain, cheap-looking cloth binding of faded blue. Pasted onto the cover of the book was a browning, hand-printed paper label that read "_The Time Machine_". Jacob's heart sank.

"Wait...this can't be it!" he said, incredulous, as he checked the call number on its minute spine against what he'd written down on the scrap of paper. "There's no way this is Wells' 'Time Machine', it's too small!" He looked up from the paper. "But the numbers match; I musta written it down wrong or somethin'…"

"That's because it's not H.G. Wells' 'Time Machine', Stone," said Eve breathlessly as an idea struck her. "It's _Charlene's_ 'Time Machine! _Charlene_ is the one who left us a message, not Cassandra or Jenkins!" She gripped the historian's shoulders tightly.

"What's it say on the inside?" Eve prodded. "Charlene must've written something inside!" Jacob's trembling fingers fumbled to open the small book, the others crowding around him to see what was inside of it. On the crumbling yellowed flyleaf was a single line, written in Charlene's distinctive hand.

"_Midnight, November 4, 2019—Portland, Oregon Annex Workroom"_

The four people looked up from the book and looked around at each other. All had a look of shock on their faces.

"What does that mean?" said Ezekiel, puzzled.

"Cassandra!" gasped Eve softly. "She's telling us when Cassandra and Jenkins are coming home—via a _time machine_!"

"Why didn't Charlene just say that, then, why isn't her name in the book?" growled Jake, wanting to believe, but clearly wary.

"Guys!" interjected Ezekiel. "In case you haven't noticed, _tomorrow_ is November 4, 2019!"

"Correction!" said Flynn, pulling his gold watch from his pocket and opening it. "It's now 12:02 am; _today_ is November 4, 2019!"

The Librarians and their Guardian looked around at each other, almost too afraid to believe. Suddenly, as though everyone had the same thought at the same time, all four turned as one and ran back to the workroom as fast as they could. With Jacob leading the way, they poured into the large room and skidded to a stop just inside the door, just in time to see a blinding flash of light and a deafening thunder-like clap, the air crackling, saturated with static electricity. Franklin screeched in terror and scrambled wildly from Jenkins's desk to the floor, then shot beneath the map cabinet in the alcove behind the Caretaker's desk.

Everyone instinctively turned their heads away and covered their eyes with their hands or arms. As the light dimmed, they heard a mechanical, high-pitched grinding sound that gradually lowered in pitch. Turning around and blinking rapidly as their eyes readjusted to the normal lighting in the workroom, they hardly noticed the large, flamboyantly garish steampunk-looking contraption that had just appeared in the middle of their Annex; their attention was focused, instead, on the thin, pale, redheaded woman in Edwardian garb perched stiffly in the machine's control chair, her eyes tightly shut, her teeth clenched. In one hand she clutched a small black box incised with magical symbols, while her other hand had a death-grip on the frame of the time machine itself.

"Cassandra?!" breathed Eve, her heart racing with excitement. _Cassandra was alive!_ The moment she heard her name called, the young Librarian opened her mouth and wailed like a mournful banshee.

"NO! GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE! _PLEASE_!"

Before anyone could react or say anything, Cassandra screamed as if she was in terrible pain. She brought the hand holding onto the box across her chest, and with all her strength she flung the box as far away from her as possible. At the same moment, the time machine began to snap and spark angrily as various overloaded components blew themselves apart and circuits began to short out, sending shards of glass and metal flying in all directions. Smoke and flames appeared from behind Cassandra, dangerously close to the skirts of her clothing. Most alarming of all, however, was that she and the machine were beginning to fade in and out of existence.

"Cassandra!" shouted Eve. Without a moment's hesitation, the Guardian ran forward and seized the Librarian by her arm and tried to pull her off of the disintegrating time machine. But, Cassandra, still stunned by her terrifying trip through Time on the unstable prototype, unconsciously tightened her grip on the frame, still not aware that she had actually reached her destination.

"NO!" the Librarian shrieked in panic. "Leave me alone! Go away!"

"Cassandra! Let go!" screamed Baird, pulling on Cassandra's arm as hard as she could, but the terrified woman, fueled by adrenaline, held on.

"I need help!" the Guardian shouted. Before the sentence was finished, she felt a strong pair of hands next to hers, prying the frozen Librarian's fingers free of the time machine.

"I gotcha!" Jake yelled over the increasingly ominous whine of the machine. Suddenly Cassandra's hand was free of the framing, and all three of them tumbled to the floor in a heap. A split-second later, a blinding ball of light engulfed the time machine and hid it from view. A blast concussion blew outward from where the machine had sat, knocking everyone and everything in the workroom to the ground and pushing the heavy tables and desks across the room to slam into the walls. Papers, books and artifacts flew everywhere.

For several seconds after the blast, nothing moved in the suddenly still, acrid air. Then, as sheets of paper drifted to the floor around them, Flynn, Ezekiel, Jake and Eve began to sit upright. Baird looked down, and to her tremendous relief, there was Cassandra, shaken and confused, but otherwise she appeared to be unharmed.

"Cassandra?!" said Eve, gently pulling the younger woman upright and quickly scanning her for injuries while the men scrambled to gather anxiously around the two women. "Are you all right?!"

The Librarian slowly opened her eyes and looked around at the familiar, worried faces. A faint smile of recognition began to slowly spread across her face and tears of joy pooled in her blue eyes.

"Hey, guys; I'm back," she whispered, half-raising her free hand to wave at them weakly. "Did you miss me?"

Cassandra then turned quickly away and vomited all over the floor.


	17. The Metropolitan Public Library, 1912

Jenkins slowly became aware of sounds, coming from someplace far away. They were muffled and indistinct, but they sounded like voices. Thinking that he was perhaps dreaming, he was content to lie still and allow the sounds to drift in and out of his budding consciousness for a time. Gradually, he realized that he recognized the voices. There were two: A man and a woman. The man, stuttering and low; the woman, warm and sharp.

_They almost sound like Judson and Charlene_, the immortal thought dreamily. But of course it couldn't be Judson or Charlene, they were gone now, years gone. He slowly opened his aching eyes and tried to sit up, and screamed as his entire body exploded with pain.

It felt as though he had been doused with liquid fire, billions of raw nerves all over his recovering body firing in response to his movements. He instantly stopped moving and fell limp onto whatever surface he was laying on, keeping as still as possible, hardly daring to breathe as the angry, all-consuming pain slowly subsided to a hot, aching burn that he felt over every square inch of his body. When the pain became tolerable again, he carefully opened his eyes and looked around as best her could without having to move his head.

His vison was slightly blurry, but he thought he recognized the ceiling of his lab, yet something wasn't right. It smelled different, sounded different. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened.

His brain worked slowly. With a tremendous effort, he forced himself to remember. He recalled the Library, that there was a mission—a very important mission. A dangerous artifact. A heart of some kind. No, a Heart Stone!

_Cassandra!_

His eyes flew wide as a flood of memory suddenly swamped his mind. He started to push himself upright again, only to once again be blinded by a sheet of searing pain. Shrieking, he dropped back onto the hard surface, writhing in agony. He dry-heaved with the pain, scalding tears springing to his eyes. Running footsteps and voices hurried toward him.

"Lie still, Galahad! Lie still!" He heard the woman's voice speaking urgently through the haze of pain. With a tremendous effort, Jenkins focused his attention on remaining absolutely still, his eyes closed. The pain faded again. He heard the soft tinkling of glass, then felt something cool and liquid being poured into his mouth, most of it managing to seep its way between his clenched teeth. He swallowed it reflexively, a small surge of pain gripping his neck like a vice.

"That's it," the woman said quietly. He could sense that she was right next to him, but she didn't touch him.

"Galahad, it's Charlene," she continued. "You're in the Library, in New York, in the year 1912."

1912\. He remembered more details now. The Heart Stone. Cassandra triggered it; he tried to take it from her, but he was too late. They were sent to the Titanic, just in time for its sinking. He remembered dropping her into one of the last lifeboats, feeling her cling to him desperately, not wanting to leave him, begging him to let her stay with him and face certain death. Jenkins very slowly opened his mouth.

"Cassandra?" he barely whispered.

"She's fine," the voice assured him. Could it really be Charlene?

"She was rescued a few hours after the Titanic went down," the voice went on. "She made her way here to the Library, just as you instructed her. You saved her, Galahad; she's fine!"

_You saved her, Galahad._ The words reverberated through his mind. A wave of relief washed over him, taking the edge off of the pain. _Cassandra was safe_!

"Where?" he whispered again, cautiously turning his head toward the sound of Charlene's voice. There was a pause.

"She's not here, Galahad, I'm sorry," she said gently. "We had to send her home, to her own time. It was too dangerous for her to stay here any longer." The immortal had trouble understanding what Charlene was saying.

"Own time?" he breathed faintly. It came to him then; Cassandra had gone back to the year the two of them were taken from by the Heart, the year 2019.

"How?" he tried to ask, but could only mouth the word now; even whispering was too painful. Even so, his thinking was beginning to clear and sharpen, and he noticed that the terrible pain was beginning to ease a bit. He surmised that the cool liquid Charlene had given him earlier was some kind of potion.

"We used Mr. Wells's time machine prototype," Charlene said.

"We?"

"Judson and I," she answered him. Of course; it was 1912, Judson was still alive and very active in the Library. As Jenkins's mind reluctantly processed all of this, he suddenly felt something cool and metallic touch his lips.

"Drink this," instructed Charlene, and he automatically parted his lips. Another liquid, this one thick, almost slimy, slipped over his tongue and toward his throat, something bitter and medicinal-tasting. Bracing himself for more pain, he swallowed the liquid with a loud gulp, but was surprised when the awful searing sensation failed to appear.

"Rest now, Galahad," Charlene said soothingly. "You're very weak. We'll talk later, when you're feeling better. Please, just rest now. I'll come back later and check on you."

He felt a thin sheet of fabric being pulled up to cover him lightly. Jenkins drifted gratefully into unconsciousness again. The last thing he heard was the heels of Charlene's shoes tapping away across the cement floor of the laboratory.

* * *

Jenkins dreamed of having to say goodbye to Cassandra again and again. Sometimes he saw the scene between them on the deck of the hapless Titanic. Other times it was only her voice piercing utter blackness, weeping, apologizing, telling him that she couldn't stay in the Library with him, that she had to go back. In his dreams, she told him how much she loved him, that Charlene and Judson would be working on a way to send him back, too, while she and the others would work from their end to bring him home soon. She promised through ragged sobs again and again that she would never stop until they were together again, no matter what it took, at the same time begging him to keep trying to find his way back to her. He wanted desperately to reach out to her, to take her into his arms and comfort her, tell her that everything was going to be all right, but no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't make his body move.

He felt tears of shame and helplessness slip from the corners of his eyes and fall down his temples. He was supposed to protect Cassandra from things like heartache and pain, but he had failed miserably. She had shed so many tears because of him, and it broke his immortal heart.

* * *

"Cassandra!" he croaked, bolting awake. His vision was still a little fuzzy, but sharper now, sharp enough for him recognize the familiar, stark lighting fixtures in the ceiling of his lab. He heard the rustling of clothing and a familiar tapping coming towards him quickly, and he started to turn his head.

"No! Don't move!" Charlene ordered as she hurried to his side. She suddenly appeared next to him, and for a moment he was confused. How could Charlene be alive?

"You're looking much better today!" she said in a pleased tone, her eyes scanning him. "How do you feel?"

"Like hell," he rasped softly, closing his eyes for a moment. His entire body ached and his head felt like mountain dwarves were using it as an anvil.

"Good!" Charlene said. "Thank God we happened to have a small bottle of the dwale potion; it cost the Library a small fortune to acquire, but it cures just about anything!" She bent over him and for the first time he got a good look at her. She was just as he remembered her, except her graying blonde hair was long now, and done up in the stylish "Gibson Girl" fashion. She wore a snug-fitting tailored ladies' suit consisting of a short, long-sleeved jacket and floor-length skirt of gray wool and a starched white cotton blouse. A pair of tortoiseshell pince-nez glasses was perched on the bridge of her fine nose.

"Where's Cassandra?" he asked. Charlene sighed and shook her head.

"She's not here, Galahad, I'm sorry. We had to send her back to the year 2019. Do you remember me telling you that earlier?" she answered. Jenkins nodded slightly, the memory dim, but present.

"How long have I been here?" he continued. "What happened?" Charlene pressed her thin lips together for a moment, unsure of how much to tell him, before replying.

"A few weeks," she said. "Apparently, your Librarian, Cassandra, accidentally triggered a Heart Stone. According to her, you tried to take it from her, and it ended up sending the both of you to the Titanic on the night it sank."

Memories that were fuzzy and uncertain in Jenkins's mind began to focus in clarity as Charlene spoke. She told him about the night of the tragedy, Cassandra's rescue, how she made her way to the Library with the Heart of Sorrow. She repeated for him Cassandra's story about Stone's attempt to trick her into touching it again, told him about Judson going to Nova Scotia and recovering Jenkins's "corpse" and bringing it back to New York. She informed him that he was frozen nearly solid by the time he had been plucked from the Atlantic by the Mackay-Bennett. She made a point especially of telling Jenkins that he was very lucky that Judson found him before the Canadian undertakers tried to embalm him. The old Caretaker shivered involuntarily when he heard that; he had no wish to go through _that_ particular experience ever again.

"Cassandra wanted to wait until you regained consciousness, so she could say goodbye, but it was just too risky for her to stay here that long," Charlene finished apologetically. "She had to return the Heart to 2019 in order for the Library to be able to secure it completely. Plus, she knew far too much about future events; we just couldn't risk her inadvertently violating the law of causality." Jenkins tried to sit up, but Charlene quickly put her hand on his shoulder to hold him down.

"Oh, no you don't, young man!" she scolded. "You stay put! You're still far too sick to be up and moving around!" Jenkins groaned, but stayed down, letting his entire body go limp. He raised one hand to rub his face; he was shocked to see that all of his fingers were shriveled and black.

"Frostbite," said Charlene soberly, a distressed look coming to her face. "You've suffered quite a bit of it, I'm afraid. We'll...have to do some amputations, I'm afraid." Jenkins glanced at her suspiciously.

"What kinds of amputations?" he croaked. Charlene thought of downplaying the seriousness of the injuries, but dismissed it almost immediately. He would find out the truth eventually anyway. She took a quiet breath.

"All your fingers," she began clinically. "All of your toes, both ears, your nose. And, of course, you'll shed a great deal of damaged skin on top of that." Jenkins sighed. He wasn't surprised by the damage, but he certainly wasn't looking forward to the recovery process, and he was grateful that Cassandra would be spared having to witness it. A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he cast an awkward sideways glance in Charlene's direction.

"What about...?" He flicked his eyes downward and back up again. It took a moment for the Guardian to realize what he was asking.

"Oh! Um...no," she reassured him quickly. "Somehow, miraculously, your...um..._manhood_...is completely undamaged." Jenkins heaved a heartfelt sigh. It was only male vanity, he knew, but he was relieved nonetheless. He turned his head slightly to meet Charlene's gaze.

"So I just lie here, then, on a table in the middle of the lab, until you deem me well enough to move to a proper bed?" he growled sourly, drawing a chuckle from the Guardian.

"You _are_ on the mend!" she shot back with equal sourness, but he could hear the relief under her sarcastic tone. "But to answer your question—no, you will not have to stay here now that you're awake. We didn't want to move you until your nerves were healed enough to do so without causing you too much pain. I'll get some of the workmen to help move you to a guestroom that I've had prepared; your suite is too far away. The less movement you experience, the better." She turned to go and summon the men when Jenkins tried to grab her wrist, his dead fingertips were like claws on her skin. He tried to close his fingers on her wrist, but only he only managed to cause a flare of sharp pain in his what was left of his hand and up his arm.

"Wait! What did Cassandra tell you? About…herself?" he asked, his worried dark eyes burning into her blue ones. She blinked rapidly a few times, then gave him a weak smile.

"She told me that she was one of _four_ Librarians," Charlene replied steadily, then chuckled softly. "Judson nearly had an apoplectic fit when he heard about that!" Jenkins let his hand drop to his side as he relaxed.

"She also told me that the two of you were Sealed," she said quietly, knowing that that's what he really wanted to know about. His head jerked toward her, pain lancing through his skull. He stared up at Charlene, his eyes now full of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Charlene…" he began, voice husky with illness and emotion.

"Don't be," she cut in firmly, meeting his gaze placidly. "I'm _glad_ you finally found someone you can love, someone who can return it. You _deserve_ that, Galahad—God knows that you deserve that!"

"But I vowed my heart to _you_, for all eternity!" he whispered, looking intently at her.

"You did not!" she countered gently. "You were still a young and well-intentioned knight, comparatively speaking, when you made that vow. But it was rash and foolish, and I rejected it on the spot, if you'll remember? You were _never_ bound to keep it." She took his hand and held it gingerly.

"You have nothing to feel guilty about, Galahad," she reassured him, then her eyes became sad. "The one I feel badly for is the Galahad in the London Annex right now, pining for a love he will never have—and I can't tell him about your Librarian at all. I can't let him know that one day he'll find someone who will make him forget all about me!" Her face suddenly brightened and she patted his arm lightly.

"That reminds me…" she said briskly before turning and disappearing from his line of sight. He heard her rummaging around in something a few seconds before she reappeared. She held up a large, heavy ring made of gold, shaped like two tree entwined tree branches.

"You were wearing this when they fished you out of the Atlantic," she told him. Jenkins dark eyes caught sight of the glint of gold. His Sealing ring! A painful, aching longing filled his chest even as a tiny smile came to his lips.

"Fortunately, they put it in a bag with your other belongings," said Charlene. "Your clothes, shoes, the ring. You can't wear it on your finger right now, obviously, but I'll find a chain for it and you can wear it around your neck, if you like." He nodded, then looked up at her with an anxious expression.

"Was…was there a piece of silk in the bag?" he asked. "Like a handkerchief, except brightly colored?" Charlene instantly made a revolted face and went back to where she got the ring. She returned a moment later with a cloth—a gaudy pattern of bright green and blue paisley bordered with a wide band of pink—and held it up.

"You mean this?" she asked. Jenkins smiled radiantly and nodded as he reached for it, clasping it between his ruined hands.

"Thank you, Charlene," he murmured. Suddenly, he felt very tired and completely drained, and he closed his eyes. "It was a Christmas gift." Charlene laughed softly.

"_You_ participated in Christmas activities?" she asked in mock horror. Jenkins smiled gently, his eyes remaining closed.

"Indeed, I did!" he said. His smile spread as the memory of Cassandra trying to teach him how to dance to popular music flooded his mind, how much she had made him laugh during that yet-to-come Christmas Eve. "I even attended a Christmas party that year!" Charlene, moved by the expression of sheer love and happiness that was practically glowing on the old knight's face, blinked back tears.

"With your Cassandra?" she asked. Jenkins nodded his head slightly.

"My Cassandra!" he whispered, then drifted off to sleep. Charlene said nothing more. She gazed down on the Caretaker for a moment, then turned to fetch the workmen to help her move him to the waiting guestroom.

* * *

Several weeks later the ex-Guardian set a breakfast tray down on a small stand outside of Jenkins's sickroom and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" answered a hoarse, gravelly voice from inside. She turned the brass knob and pushed the door open, then picked up the tray of food and hot tea to bring inside.

"Galahad," she briskly greeted the recuperating Caretaker as she swept into the room. She went directly to the small table next to his bed and set the tray down. "How are you feeling today? Did you sleep well?"

Jenkins merely grunted as he slowly pushed himself up in his bed and watched her prepare a small plate of food for him: Toast with butter and orange marmalade, two soft-boiled eggs, three strips of crisp bacon, a small plate of apple slices and a cup of piping-hot tea.

Though he was much recovered now, he was still weak. As Judson had predicted, Jenkins ended up losing his fingers and toes, as well as his ears and his nose. These were all in the process of regenerating, but it would be some time yet before they were completely healed. In the meantime, he had to cover the gruesome injuries with bandages. Perhaps the most nightmarish wounds, however, had been the large patches of skin too damaged by the freezing cold to recover and that eventually sloughed off in large pieces that had disturbed Charlene the most. The new skin beneath was raw and sensitive, and it had to be covered and treated with a special healing salve until it was healed enough to be left to the open air. As a result, the recovering immortal now had the appearance of a half-wrapped mummy.

Jenkins, used to being busy almost every minute of the day, quickly became bored with being bedridden. Charlene caught him out of his bed just the other day as he prepared to try and walk across his bedroom by himself on his damaged feet. She quickly nixed that idea, giving him a sharp scolding for being so foolhardy and chased him back into bed. Charlene made him promise to stay there, informing him that his legs were unsteady and his balance was compromised because of his missing toes. And had he already forgotten about how quickly he tired? Still, considering the extent of his injuries, he was making a near-miraculous recovery

"Here you are, eat this," Charlene ordered him as she picked up the plate and spread a large napkin over his lap. Since his fingerless hands made it impossible for him to use any utensils, Charlene held up a piece of toast to feed it to him. Jenkins glared sourly at the Guardian for a moment, then leaned forward to take a tiny bite off the corner of the toast. Charlene sighed and gave him a reproving look.

"You have to eat!" she chided him. "You're becoming nothing but skin and bones!" Regeneration required a tremendous amount of energy, and Jenkins's injuries were serious; the immortal's body was rapidly consuming his body's fat reserves. This was the one situation wherein an immortal _needed_ to take in food, to fuel the healing process; otherwise his body would literally devour itself as it tried to heal. Jenkins frowned and heaved a dramatic sigh of his own.

"I'm not hungry," he said petulantly, adjusting his position in the bed carefully. "Besides, I don't _have_ to eat; I'm immortal, remember?"

"At least your childish disposition seems to have made a full recovery," she grumbled. She set the plate back onto the tray and picked up a brown bottle and a large spoon. She uncorked the bottle and filled the spoon with a thick, syrupy liquid. She turned to carefully hold the spoon out to Jenkins.

"Here—take this," she ordered. Jenkins didn't budge.

"Why? What it is?" he asked suspiciously. Charlene sighed.

"It's medicine!" she snapped. "Since you won't eat properly, you need to supply your body with the energy it needs in order to heal in another way. Now—_take the damn medicine!_" Jenkins blinked in surprise and stared at her, but he obediently leaned forward and opened his mouth to allow Charlene to pour the spoonful of medicine into it. As he swallowed, the Caretaker's face twisted in disgust.

"UGH!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips and rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he tried to rid it of the horrible aftertaste. "That's nothing but cod liver oil!"

"It's cod liver oil mixed with the highly concentrated form of a magically-enhanced nutritional supplement," she informed him crisply as she recorked the bottle and set it on the nightstand with the spoon.

"_Why_ would you do that?" he demanded, glaring at her in disbelief. "I know the potion you're talking about, it's the ? potion. And it tastes like _honey_!" She turned and fixed him with a baleful stare.

"If you're going to act like a spoiled child, then I'm going to _treat_ you like a spoiled child!" she said flatly. "You can either eat the food you need to heal properly, or you can take a big dose of cod liver oil—the choice is yours!" She turned to the tray and poured a cup of tea. After adding sugar and milk, she held out the cup to him. "Would you like some tea?"

Jenkins eyed her dourly for a moment but held his tongue. He then leaned forward to gingerly take a sip of the hot tea while she held the cup for him. The familiar comfort of it soothed him at once. Charlene pulled up a small wooden chair next to the bed and sat down, then gave him another sip of the tea.

"You need to build your strength, Galahad; food helps to speed the process, and it's much more effective than potions," she reminded him patiently. "You don't want to look like death warmed over when you go back and see your bride again." Jenkins cast an anxious sideways glance at her as he took another sip of tea.

"We haven't really talked about that yet, have we?" he murmured and squirmed uneasily on the bed. "About Cassandra, I mean."

"We have nothing to talk about," Charlene said bluntly. "This is exactly what I always wanted for you—to let go of your infatuation with me and find someone else. Someone who was free to return your affection and your love. Cassandra seems like a perfect match for you, though I am a little bit surprised that you chose a Librarian." Jenkins snorted.

"It's not as if I had a large variety of options to pick from," he answered scornfully, dropping his gaze. "Librarians or Guardians, that's pretty much it. And _immortal_ women don't exactly grow on trees, you know!" He took another sip of tea.

"You and Judson, your relationship has always been so...tumultuous! Thick as thieves one day, not speaking to each other the next!" Jenkins squirmed on the bed in agitation at the memories. "I kept hoping that maybe you would give _me_ a chance during one the times you weren't speaking to Judson..." He snapped his mouth shut and made himself look up at the woman he had spent so many centuries yearning for. It was strange to feel absolutely nothing romantic for her anymore.

"I can't explain everything, Charlene, not without revealing future events to you, and you know that I can't do that," he explained, his voice tinged with regret. "I wish I could."

"I understand all of that, Galahad," the woman answered softly as she gazed steadily at him. "The details don't matter." She laid her hand lightly on Jenkins's knee.

"Galahad, I'm sorry for the all the pain I caused you over the years! I never meant to do that to you. I'm just glad to know that you're finally _happy_." She squeezed his knee as she smiled at him sadly. He laid his ruined, bandaged hand over hers and smiled as he patted it warmly.

"Was…was Cassandra very upset when you sent her back?" he asked, at last putting the subject of Charlene and him to rest forever. He tried to sound detached, but Charlene could hear the worry in his voice.

"She was upset, of course," she answered him truthfully, dropping her eyes. "I won't lie to you, there were tears. She said that she understood our reasoning, but she didn't want to leave you again after being separated on the ship. She felt like she was abandoning you again, I think."

"And the Wells prototype worked?" he asked anxiously, gazing intently at the Guardian.

"It appears so," she said carefully. "I think we were able to correct the drift problem. Judson set the machine to return to this time and place the moment Cassandra stepped off of it in 2019. It returned almost immediately after we sent her off. Judson feels everything went off without a hitch." She purposely didn't tell him that the machine was little more than a smoldering pile of molten slag when it had reappeared. Judson found no sign of human remains amongst the wreckage, thank the gods, and so he was reasonably confident that Cassandra managed to get off of the machine before it self-destructed.

"Galahad, I need to talk to you about Cassandra, and the Heart Stone," Charlene said carefully and adjusted her seat on the edge of Jenkins's bed. He looked up at her expectantly. He wasn't going to like what she had to say, but it had to be said.

"Cassandra told me that the Stone spoke to her," she continued. Charlene then repeated for him everything Cassandra had told her about the Stone and what it had told the Librarian about her destiny as a great sorceress. As the Guardian spoke, Jenkins's face grew pale, and his body stiffened visibly as he stared at her. When she was finished, Jenkins said nothing, only looked away.

"She has the Old Magic, Galahad," Charlene said. Jenkins's head swung sharply back to face her.

"You told her it was all nonsense, of course?" he rasped tightly, his dark eyes boring into hers. Charlene sat up straight and shook her head.

"No, I didn't," she said. Jenkins instantly made a sound of angry disgust and she reached out to lay her hand on his leg.

"It can't be dismissed, Galahad!" she retorted. "It's not going to just disappear! It's part of who she is! She can't stop having it be a part of her any more than she can stop breathing!" Charlene leaned forward. "But she needs _guidance_, Galahad; she needs to learn how to use it, how to control it, how to live with it..."

"It won't come from me!" he cut in brusquely. "I will _not_ be the one who helps my own wife to destroy herself—nor will I allow anyone else to do it!" Charlene exhaled quietly and leaned back.

"Galahad, I understand how you feel..."

"_Do you_?" he croaked loudly, his eyes filled with anger and pain. "Funny—I don't recall seeing you there when I was burying what was left of everyone I ever knew and loved after the Old Magic destroyed them! I don't recall you weeping beside me as we looked down on the burning ruins of the citadel after Morgan used the Old Magic to raze it to the ground! I don't...!" Jenkins stopped speaking suddenly and looked away as he fought to regain his composure. Charlene remained silent. After a few minutes he turned back to her, but his eyes remained downcast.

"Speaking of Judson—I can't help but notice that I've seen very little of the man himself," the Caretaker commented drily, changing the subject entirely. "I'm surprised he even bothered to come looking for me at all in Halifax. He must've been very disappointed to have found me _before_ they tried to embalm me."

"That's not true!" Charlene protested, fixing the ill man with an admonitory stare. She decided to let the subject of Cassandra and the Old Magic go—for now. She knew the Caretaker. He knew she was right; he just needed time to think about it, to come to terms with the situation. "Judson was _very_ worried about you! As soon as we heard that a recovery ship was being dispatched to recover the bodies, he got on the first train to Halifax!" Jenkins snorted again, loudly.

"Yes, and his frequent check-ins to see how I'm progressing have been utterly heartwarming," he replied acidly. He then frowned and cocked his head to give Charlene a tart look. "Oh, wait…I have yet to see him even _once_!"

"You come from well into the Twenty-First Century, and you two _still_ haven't reconciled?" Charlene said, exasperated. "You're worse than squabbling children, the both of you!" She noticed the guilt-ridden look that came to the Caretaker's face.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, looking away to stare out of the window in his room. "I shouldn't be so hard on Judson, that's all. I was—_am_—fully half of the problem, after all." He turned his head to look at Charlene again. "And for that I'm sorry."

Charlene looked at him for a moment, puzzled and surprised by this sudden relenting in the normally pessimistic and combative immortal. In all the time she had known them, she had never heard Galahad speak of Judson in such a regretful tone of voice, had never heard him apologize for the tension between them. She opened her mouth to ask him about it, but he spoke first.

"So—how are we planning to get _me_ back to 2019? I'd hate to accidentally run into myself someday," he said, waved the stump of his hand at the tray next to him to indicate that he wanted some of the apple she had brought him for breakfast. Charlene speared one of the apple slices with a fork and held it at the ready for him.

"The prototype, I presume?" he asked. She could see exhaustion begin to glaze his eyes. Charlene shook her head, letting the topic of Judson drop.

"No! There…wasn't enough energy left in its battery for another trip," she lied. "And when Judson tried to recharge it, the battery blew apart. The whole thing is little more than an utterly useless paperweight now—if it hadn't been so imperative for your Librarian to return to her own time with the Heart, we would never even have tried it with her." She saw the alarmed expression that came to his worn face and hurried to reassure him.

"Don't worry, Galahad, she made it home all right!" she said, forcing confidence into her voice, hoping that she was fooling the wily old Caretaker. "You know how temperamental time machines can be and how much Judson dislikes using them. We'll find a way to get you home. It might just take a little time before we can find something that will work, that's all." Jenkins said nothing and turned his head to stare at the apple slice in her hand. She frowned as she watched his look of concern turn into one of distracted thoughtfulness.

"What is it? What are you thinking?" she probed. He raised his head to her, a pensive look in his brown eyes.

"I think… I think I might just know of a way," he answered slowly, a note of wonderment in his voice. "I'm not unfamiliar with this exact type of situation, believe it or not, and I'm afraid that the only way out of it—is for me to take the long way home."


	18. The Portland Annex, 2019

Cassandra's eyes opened slowly. The first thing she saw was a small green head with a long snout flanked by a pair of long feeler-like whiskers. Two round black eyes blinked rapidly at her and she heard an almost questioning trill. She drowsily raised her hand and clumsily patted the serpentine head. Another green head with long ears and large round eyes popped into view.

"Franklin! Thistle!" she whispered, tears of happiness blurring her vision.

The two dragons nearly broke her eardrums with the overjoyed screeches they emitted as they forced their way into Cassandra's arms, licking her face as fast as they could make their long tongues move. They so smothered her with "kisses" that she had to push herself upright. As she tried to control the wildly wriggling creatures, Cassandra realized that she was on an exam table in the Library's infirmary. The memory of her terrifying arrival on the time machine returned.

Within seconds, Eve, Flynn, Jake and Ezekiel were at the groggy Librarian's bedside, and a raucous, emotional reunion erupted, filled with tears, shrieks of joy, laughter and crushing bear hugs all around. Everyone was thrilled to have her back, their celebration dimmed only by the continued absence of Jenkins. Suddenly, Cassandra froze in place, her eyes round with fear.

"The Heart of Sorrow!" she cried, looking around the room in a panic. "Mr. Judson said it needed to be locked away in the Library as soon as I got off of the time machine...!" Flynn nodded in understanding and reached out to grasp her shoulders.

"Don't worry, I've taken care of it!" he told her. "I locked it into the.."

"No! Don't tell me!" Cassandra cut in. "If I don't know where it is, I won't be tempted to go and see it!" Carsen frowned in confusion and exchanged a look with Eve standing next to him.

"I...don't understand," he said. Cassandra shook her head violently.

"It doesn't matter right now; I'll explain later!" she said. "Is Jenkins here?" She could tell instantly that he wasn't by the way her friends' faces fell.

"We were hoping he was coming back with you," said Eve. The look of desolation on Cassandra's face nearly took the Guardian's breath away.

"Stone, why don't you go get something for everyone to drink and bring it to the workroom?" she instructed quietly without looking away from the distraught Librarian. "Jones, you wrangle the dragons. We'll meet in the workroom, and then Cassandra can fill us in on what's been happening with her and Jenkins."

"Right," Stone answered, and turned to leave the infirmary, while Ezekiel tried to subdue the excited dragons and Eve and Flynn helped Cassandra off of the exam table.

* * *

Jake ran to the kitchen and quickly grabbed the first thing he could find, a six-pack of beer in the refrigerator. He ran all the way back to the workroom, and when they were all seated at the table, everyone looked expectantly at the bedraggled redhead.

With Franklin and Thistle clinging to her and warbling happily, the Librarian began to tell them what had happened to her and Jenkins after the Heart Stone had taken them from the Annex, breaking into tears almost immediately. While the others sat, enraptured and horrified by her harrowing story, as she related everything, from the moment she first heard the voice of the Stone in the Annex to the moment Charlene had to gently pull her away—sobbing and begging for just a few more minutes—from the side of the gravely ill Jenkins in order to put her on the time machine prototype. By the time she was finished, Cassandra looked even paler and more drained than when she first arrived a few hours ago.

As soon as she stopped speaking, Flynn began to bombard her with questions. She was too upset to answer very many of them, and Eve quickly stepped in, shooting her husband a warning look as she put a protective arm around Cassandra and helped her to her feet.

"That's enough for now, Red," the Guardian said quietly, giving her a fast hug. "You look like you could use some sleep. Let me help you to your room and..."

"No!" Cassandra barked, her eyes rounding with panic. She caught herself and continued more calmly. "I...I can't sleep there, not without Jenkins!" Tears welled up in her red-rimmed eyes again and she lowered her head. Eve could feel the younger woman's shoulders trembling beneath her arm.

"That's okay," said Eve, giving the grief-stricken woman another quick hug. "You don't have to. We'll put you up in one of the guestrooms until Jenkins comes back, okay?" Cassandra nodded, a relieved look coming to her face as she looked up again.

"Thanks, Eve," she said thinly. Baird looked over at the men.

"Jake, Ezekiel, go get one of the rooms ready while Cassandra and I go and get some of her things from her room," she instructed them.

"On it!" acknowledged Jake. Now bursting with joyous energy at getting one of their friends back, he and Ezekiel jumped up and raced each other towards the corridor.

"Flynn, could you take care of Franklin and Thistle and clean things up here while I'm with Cassandra?" the Guardian asked. Flynn nodded and reached out to take hold of the protesting dragons.

Eve walked the young Librarian to the huge suite of rooms she shared with Jenkins. The moment they entered the bedroom, Cassandra stopped and looked around at the familiar surroundings, the place where she and Jenkins had shared so much love and pain and joy and had shared so many secrets. The room was exactly as they had left it—bed neatly made, one of the Caretaker's suit coats still draped over a large wing-back chair; it seemed like a lifetime ago since she was last here. The room still smelled faintly of Jenkins's favorite cologne. Tears rolled down Cassandra's cheeks, and she scrubbed them away angrily.

"I can't believe after all the crying I've done lately that I even have any tears left!" she said sharply, forcibly pulling herself together. She smiled wanly at Baird. "Sorry, I'll try to keep the waterworks under control."

"It's all right, Cassandra," said Eve, reaching out to lay her hand on one of the Librarian's forearms. "You've been through a lot! You have a right to cry!" Cassandra shrugged.

"I don't know, I just kind of always had this picture in my head of a Librarian being a lot tougher and braver and not so..._weepy_," she said in a joking voice that sounded forced to Eve's trained ear. The Guardian stepped closer and put both of her hands on Cassandra's small shoulders.

"It's _okay_," she repeated firmly, looking directly into the younger woman's blue eyes. "It's okay to cry if you're upset." Eve had the distinct feeling that there was something else going on here.

"Yeah, I know," said Cassandra, her voice beginning to shake. "It's just that...I want to be brave for Jenkins, you know? Keep a level head, stay cool, stay logical. I…I want him to be proud of me. As a Librarian. And here I am, bawling like a baby over every little thing..." She dropped her gaze as she spoke, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of the snug jacket she was wearing.

"Jenkins _is_ proud of you, Cassandra! You know he is!" reassured Eve. Suddenly, Cassandra broke down completely into harsh, ragged sobs and threw herself into Eve's arms.

"What if we never get him back, Eve?" she cried. "What if he's stuck in the past forever? What if I never see him again? What if something happened to him after I left and now he's dead? And I just left him there, all alone! How could I have done that to him, Eve? How could I have abandoned him like that?" Cassandra wept as if her heart was breaking. Eve closed her eyes and quietly held Cassandra, letting her friend just cry it out for the next several minutes. When the tears appeared to be lessening, she let go of the Librarian and backed away.

"Better?" she asked gently. Sniffling and blotting her wet cheeks again with her sleeve, Cassandra nodded.

"Good," said Baird. "Now listen to me: One—Jenkins _is_ proud of you, I know he is, because _I'm_ proud of you. Two—we're going to find a way to bring Jenkins back!"

"But..."

"No 'buts'!" Baird cut her off. A thoughtful look came to the Guardian's face and she tilted her head to one side.

"You said that Charlene and Judson were the ones who got you back to our time," she mused aloud. "So it stands to reason that they're _also_ working to get Jenkins back here as well. They didn't happen to mention any ideas to you about how they were going to do that, I suppose?"

"No, nothing specific," answered Cassandra, shaking her head. "I spent pretty much all of the time I had left there with Jenkins; he was still unconscious when I left. They said it might be months or even years before he was completely healed. Charlene said it might be weeks before he even woke up." Her voice cracked and she quickly fell silent. As she dabbed her eyes again, a thought came to her.

"How did you guys know that I was going to show up in the Annex tonight?" she asked, changing the subject before she lost control of her emotions again. Eve quickly told the Librarian about Charlene's final words to her before she went through the mirror to join Judson, and then about how they found the book that Charlene had referred to and the message inside that told them the exact day when Cassandra would return to the Annex from 1912.

"We didn't know the _exact time_, though," said Eve, chuckling. "It was just dumb luck that we were actually there when you materialized!"

"Sorry about the floor, by the way," she Cassandra sheepishly. Eve started to say something when she noticed a strange, excited look suddenly come over Cassandra's face, the Librarian's eyes widening with a mixture of astonishment and hope shining in them.

"Are you all right?" the Guardian asked nervously, slightly tilting her head. "Do you...do you need a bucket or something...?"

"Omigosh!" Cassandra breathed, practically vibrating as she stared at Eve. "Mr. Judson said something to _me_ that didn't make any sense, either, just before he activated the time machine!"

"What?! What did he say?!" asked Eve, her face reflecting the eagerness and hope of her friend.

"He said, 'Never be late for an appointment'," Cassandra recited. "Like I said, it didn't make sense at the time, I thought he just really sucked at saying 'goodbye' back in those days, but maybe…"

"But maybe he was trying to give _you_ a message!" finished Eve, her excitement building. "Maybe he was trying to tell you…where to look for information about Jenkins? Maybe a date for when _he's_ going to return?"

"The Appointment Book!" Cassandra shrieked suddenly, reaching out to grab Eve's hand. "Has anyone looked in the Appointment Book lately?"

"No!" exclaimed Eve, her eyes almost as wide and glowing as Cassandra's. "I don't think anyone's looked at it in weeks! We've been too worried about finding you guys!"

Without another word, the two women screamed excitedly, then turned and bolted out of the room and down the corridor, shouting for the men.

* * *

Eve went straight to Jenkins's desk and began to claw through the various files, books and papers stacked on it, sending a squealing Franklin and debris flying. While she looked for the Appointment Book, Flynn, Jake and Ezekiel bolted into the workroom.

"What is it? We heard somebody screamin', what's wrong?" demanded Jake as he ran over to the high, oaken desk, the others right behind him. They were startled to see a large grin on the Guardian's face.

"Seems Judson had a little book rec for Cassandra just before she was sent back to 2019!" she informed them. She at last found the small book and snatched it up, crowing in triumph. "A-HA!"

"The Appointment Book!" growled Stone, his eyes lighting up in understanding. "We never thought to look there!" As everyone crowded around the front of the desk, Eve opened the book and frantically flipped through its pages.

"Start with today's date! _Today's date_!" said Flynn, barely able to contain his excitement. He reached out to pull the book from her hands, but Eve impatiently slapped his hand away.

"I got it! I got it!" she snapped back. Eve's fingers trembled as she found the correct page and began to scan it. A look of confusion clouded her face and she looked up at the anxiously waiting team.

"There's only one entry," she said faintly. "All it says is, 'Magic mirror in my hands'." Everyone looked around, exchanging bewildered glances with one another.

"The magic mirror?" repeated Cassandra, trying to tease some sense out of the cryptic entry. "Like…_our_ magic mirror?" She turned to look at the tall antique to the left of Jenkins's desk. Ezekiel ran over and began to search the glass and its dark walnut frame for clues.

"No, _not_ our mirror," Jacob suddenly spoke up, snapping his fingers. "'Magic mirror _in my hands'_—its talkin' about a hand mirror!" Everyone turned to Flynn. Startled to suddenly be the center of attention, the Librarian shook his head frantically and shrugged.

"The Library has several magic hand mirrors, but I don't see how any of them could possibly relate to Jenkins or to time travel," he said slowly, his brow wrinkling in puzzlement.

"Maybe as a means of communication?" offered Eve, desperate for a connection. "Are there any mirrors that allow someone to communicate with people in the past?" Flynn grunted and frowned.

"I guess the closest thing to that would be the Mirror of the Hungry Ghosts," he answered tersely. "It allows you to speak with the dead of any time in the past. But the Library doesn't possess it. It's been lost for centuries." The senior Librarian threw his hands into the air and turned around to begin pacing in agitation.

"Magic mirror in my hands. Magic mirror in my hands. Magic mirror in my hands." Flynn repeated the formula over and over as he paced. Meanwhile, Ezekiel finished his examination of the Library's Magic Mirror, and stood up with a look of disgust on his face.

"If it _is_ this mirror, I can't find anything," he said, throwing his hands into the air and letting them drop to his sides. He moved to stand directly in front of the dim glass.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall! How the hell do we get Jenkins back from 1912?" he demanded snarkily. Everyone jumped when Jacob suddenly let out a loud whoop.

"Jones, that's it! You're a genius, man!" he yelled and ran over to slap the thief's back, hard.

"I already _know_ that, mate," answered Ezekiel warily. "But what are _you_ talking about?" Jake looked at the others, a gleam in his eyes.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," he said. "The story of Snow White, get it? Wicked queen asks her mirror who's the fairest of them all, and it tells her it's Snow White."

"Yeah, and…?" prompted Eve, making a "hurry up" motion with her hand.

"That's in the Disney version," he said, grinning. "In the _original_ version, the wicked queen owned a _hand mirror_!"

"And so the original formula was '_Magic mirror in my hands'_!" interjected Flynn, clapping his hand to his forehead.

"Exactly!" confirmed Stone, jabbing a finger at Flynn.

"Wait—that mirror is real? And the Library owns it?" asked Cassandra, alarm in her voice. "But what does that have to do with Jenkins? Mr. Judson didn't curse him with it or something?!"

"No, no! Not cursed!" Carsen hurried to assure her. "And yes, the Library _does_ have it! I'm not sure yet what the connection is, but the mirror itself is completely neutral. It has no will of its own, evil or good; all it does is answer questions—OH!" Flynn's eyes widened as he realized what he was saying, and he whirled ecstatically around in a complete circle.

"The wicked queen's mirror _answers questions_!" he yelled, then turned and ran from the workroom. The others looked at each for only a few seconds, then all four of them set out after the Librarian, everyone running as fast as they could as they tried to catch up to Flynn.

* * *

Everyone clustered around Flynn as he carefully lifted the ancient mirror from its battered and faded red leather case. The mirror itself was a round, polished piece of copper approximately the size of a dessert plate. It was set in a backing of intricately-carved ivory, cream-colored with age, with writhing serpent-like creatures at equidistant points along the edge of the circle to bring the entire thing into a more easily-handled square shape. Flynn held his breath as he raised it in front of him and adjusted it in his hands.

"This is the mirror of the Lady Katharina von Hatzfeld of Germany, the original 'wicked queen'," he said, almost in awe. "It's long been rumored that she poisoned her stepdaughter, Margaretha, in order to keep her from marrying the Crown Prince of Spain in the 1500's—that gruesome little incident became the inspiration for the Grimm Brothers' version of 'Snow White'. The mirror itself, though, is of Hittite origin, of course."

"Of course," repeated Eve sarcastically. Flynn missed it completely, and continued his lecture.

"Lady Katharina acquired it under mysterious circumstances and is said to have used it to keep track of her family's political and social enemies." He turned around slowly so that the others could get a better view of it.

"Why wouldn't she want her stepdaughter to marry a prince?" asked Ezekiel in confusion. "Wouldn't that be like marrying into easy street or something for the family?"

"Not in this case," said Flynn. "It wouldn't have been as politically advantageous for Margaretha's family as you might suspect. So, when Margaretha refused to obey her family's wishes…" Flynn drew a finger across his throat and grimaced.

"How do we use it?" asked Eve, wanting to get away from the unpleasant subject of filicide. She squinted as she peered at the dim, blurry reflections of the team in the burnished copper.

"We simply ask it a question, and it answers us," said Flynn. Eve turned to look at him warily.

"That's it?" she asked, unconvinced. "Just ask it a question? No…hocus-pocus, no…crazy magic spell doo-jiggies…?"

"Just ask it a question," repeated Flynn, grinning smugly. "Watch!" He held the mirror up so that only his face was reflected in its surface and cleared his throat.

"Magic mirror!" he practically yelled. "When is Jenkins coming back to the Library?"

Nothing happened.

Flynn glanced around nervously and turned back to the mirror.

"Maybe it didn't hear me," he laughed dismissively. He cleared his throat again and sucked in a deep breath.

"Magic Mirror!" he shouted, causing the others to wince. "_When is Jenkins coming back to the Library?_"

Nothing happened.

"Maybe it only understands Hittite?" offered Jacob, stifling a smirk. Jones didn't even try to hide his.

"This is serious!" said Cassandra, glaring at the two younger men, and they instantly became serious again. She turned back to Flynn and held out her hands. "Can I try?" Flynn gently passed the mirror to her and she examined it thoughtfully.

"In the fairy tales, when the queen asks her mirror a question, it's in the form of a couplet," she mused aloud, then looked into the mirror.

"'Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?'" she said idly. The mirror remained unchanged.

"Maybe it really does only understand Hittite?" said Ezekiel uneasily. He turned to look at Jake. "How's your Hittite these days, mate?"

"No!" said Cassandra, her eyes lighting up. "Not Hittite. Lady Katharina couldn't speak Hittite; she spoke German. But it _does_ have to be a couplet, a _rhyming_ couplet; the movies got that part right!" She looked around at the others. "Like a miniature summoning spell; the sing-song cadence and harmonics are essential elements of a summoning spell! And Charlene and Mr. Judson gave us the first line for _this_ particular spell..." She raised the mirror again and closed her eyes for a few moments, then opened them to look intently into the eyes of her own reflection.

"Magic mirror in my hands, when comes the greatest knight in all the lands?"

The copper surface of the mirror burst into a warm glow of golden-reddish light. Cassandra tightened her hold on the mirror as she turned her head away and shut her eyes. The flash lasted only a second, then dimmed to a soft, gently radiating halo that traced the circular outline of the mirror. Cassandra opened her eyes and turned her head back to the mirror, and the young Librarian gasped in amazement. Instead of her own face, Cassandra and the others saw the slightly blurred tableau of a large, underground room filled with massive rectangular stones lined up in straight rows.

"Oh, gracious Mistress, filled with longing love so keen!" a soft, velvety voice sounded from somewhere within the mirror in perfect American English. "Behold! Herein awaits your noble knight, unseen!"

"Where is this?!" Cassandra gasped quietly, dumbfounded as she stared at the sight, her heart pounding as vague dread set in.

"The Library's Crypt?" questioned Flynn, staring uncomprehendingly at the scene in the mirror. "He's in the Library's _Crypt_?"

"The Library has a crypt?" asked Eve, turning to look at Carsen. "How did I not know that the Library has a crypt?!"

"I dunno," he replied, shrugging, his eyes still staring at the image in the mirror. "It's in the manual."

"_What_ manual?!" she demanded, her voice filled with bewilderment.

"The manual for Tethered Guardians…that...I…forgot…to tell you about _before_ now…" answered the Librarian slowly as he made a pained face. "I am so sorry, sweetie, I _meant_ to tell you about it earlier but I…"

"Okay, maybe you guys could argue about this later?" interrupted Cassandra frantically, her tone shrill and frightened. "Right now, can we focus on finding out _why_ Jenkins is currently buried in a _crypt_?! Because he was _alive_ when I left him!" Eve reached out to put her hand on the young Librarian's back.

"I'm sorry, Cassandra," said the Guardian, a steely look coming to her blue eyes. "And you're right, we need to focus on Jenkins!" She turned her gaze onto Flynn.

"Take us to the crypt, Flynn," she ordered. "Now!"


	19. The Crypt of the Library, 1912

Jenkins, Charlene and Judson stood in the cold, stale-smelling crypt of the Library and looked down at the long, simple coffin constructed of oak. Next to the coffin yawned an open grave. A large slab of marble that perfectly matched the flooring waited nearby to cover the grave. Charlene turned apprehensively to Caretaker.

"Galahad, are you _sure_ this is what you want to do?" she asked, her voice low and anxious. "I'm sure we can think of something less…_drastic_, if we just took some time and…"

"No," he answered firmly, but not unkindly. "I appreciate your concern, Charlene, but I've been here far too long as it is."

"But you're still recovering," she argued. "You're still weak, you've lost far too much weight! You need to rest, build up your strength, allow yourself to heal completely!"

"If a one hundred and seven year rest doesn't restore me, then nothing will," Jenkins countered gently. He turned to her and laid his bandaged hands on her shoulders.

"I don't belong here, Charlene, you know that. There's already a Jenkins in the Library right now, and if Judson is to be believed—" He shot the Librarian a stern look. "Even _that_ is one Jenkins too many!" He returned his attention to his old friend.

"It's too risky for me to stay any longer, I know too much. Even an accidental slip of the tongue could have dire effects on future events. And since there are no functioning time machines left now, the only way I can travel back to where I belong is by the _long_ route." He felt the Guardian's shoulders drop as she turned her head to take in the coffin again.

"I know, Galahad, I know, but—does it have to be like _this_?" she said, flicking her hand at the coffin, her lips twisting into a grimace of disgust.

"Yes," he answered. "We can't take the chance of any future Librarians or Guardians—or especially myself—accidentally encountering me, and if I try to hide myself within the Library or in one of the other Annexes until 2019, there will always be a chance of that happening." He let go of her and turned back to regard the coffin.

"This way, I will be completely outside of the Library's sphere of activity. There won't be a risk of my being discovered prematurely." He turned back to Charlene and raised a stubby, regenerating finger in warning.

"Just be certain that you make that entry in the Appointment Book!" he reminded her gravely. "After that, the future will take care of itself." Charlene pressed her lips together and looked as though she was going to say something else, but in the end she remained silent and only nodded her head. Jenkins turned his attention to the quietly waiting Judson.

"Judson," the immortal began with a nod. "If you're ready, I'm ready." The Librarian silently turned and walked to a lampstand nearby to pick up a small bowl of apples. He carried them back to the waiting Jenkins.

"Are you…are you sure this will work?" he asked, looking worriedly up into Jenkins's dark brown eyes. Jenkins peered down at the bowl of fruit and chose one that satisfied him, gripping it carefully with his half-grown fingers.

"It should," he answered lightly, polishing the apple on the coat-sleeve of his Edwardian-style suit. "Being an immortal, I cannot be killed, as you well know. But I can still be affected by certain magics." He held the apple up to look at the sheen of its blood-red skin.

"This should merely put me to sleep until the spell is properly broken," he continued, turning his gaze to the short Librarian. Jenkins automatically held out his right hand.

"Thank you, Judson, for taking care of my Cassandra," he said sincerely as he looked into Judson's eyes. "And thank you for coming to look for me, for bringing me back to the Library." Judson took the outstretched hand and carefully shook it.

"You're welcome, Jenkins," he said. He held onto Jenkins's hand as he gazed solemnly up at the larger man. Judson paused for a moment, then took a breath. "I…I know that we haven't exactly seen...seen eye to eye on most things, Galahad, and…and maybe I should've said something before now, but…" The Librarian paused again, a thoughtful look crossing his sad-looking face.

"Just…in case this scheme of yours doesn't…doesn't work, and...and since I can't say anything to the Jenkins of _this_ time, I want to tell you now that you're...you're an honorable man; you always have been. I've…I've always admired you—y-your courage, your integrity, your loyalty. You…you should've been a Librarian." Judson's eyes dropped a moment before looking up into Jenkins's again.

"I wish you and Cassandra many happy years together." Jenkins, unable to believe his ears, stared down at Judson for a few moments in astonishment. The old Librarian had never before said such things to him. A tiny, shy, but immensely pleased smile came to his lips and lit up his dark eyes, and he began to slowly shake Judson's hand again, more heartily this time.

"Thank you, Ju—. _Yehuda_," he rumbled warmly with a slight bow, using Judson's true name for the first time in centuries. He let go of Judson's hand and started to turn to Charlene when Judson spoke up again.

"By...by the way: You...you owe me five hundred dollars for the bribe I had to pay in Halifax to...to keep them from embalming you again," he said, his face expressionless. Jenkins lowered his head to peer intently at the shorter man.

"Remind me in a hundred years' time," the Caretaker replied, the barest hint of a smile coming to his lips. "I should have it for you by then." He turned to the waiting Charlene and extended his bandaged hand to her.

"And thank you, too, Charmion, for all of your help as well," he said kindly, also using her true name. "I'm glad that we were able to talk about things, clear the air a bit."

In most of her conversations with Galahad in the past, she had always seen an adoring look in his eyes that could only be described as "mooning", but now that look was completely absent in this future version of the Caretaker, and Charlene was surprised to find that she was now filled with a sense of bittersweetness about that. She smiled and put her hand out to take his.

"You're welcome, Galahad," she said. She dropped her eyes a moment and held onto his hand. Her blue eyes came up and looked straight into his brown ones.

"Galahad, Cassandra told me a little bit about the disagreement you had just before all of this happened," she said solemnly. She sensed his body stiffening and heard his intake of breath. She squeezed his hand to reassure him.

"She _is_ magically gifted, Galahad!" she said urgently. "The Heart of Sorrow—it sensed the magic she possesses, and that's how it was able to influence her so easily. It sensed her magic and it sensed the fact that she was untried and defenseless. It was able to manipulate her with hardly any effort at all." The Guardian felt Jenkins's arm stiffen even more as she continued to hold his hand. The look of guilt and fear in his eyes told her that the immortal already knew what she wanted to tell him—and he wanted nothing to do with it. She said it aloud anyway.

"Galahad, Cassandra has the Old Magic!"

Jenkins opened his mouth to protest, but she didn't let him. "You know it's true, Galahad! And I know that you fear the Old Magic, and for good reason. But...no matter how long you ignore it or how fiercely you deny it, it's not going to just go away! She _needs_ to learn, Galahad, she needs to be _taught_, for her own protection at the very least! And _you_ have to do that, as painful as it may be for you; you're the only one who can do it!" Jenkins raised his head and sniffed defiantly.

"Who's to say that you and Judson can't do it?" he said, doing his best to sound lackadaisical. Charlene smiled knowingly, sadly.

"Judson and I have pieced things together well enough to figure out that we won't be around by 2019," she said gently. He began to argue with her, but she waved her free hand in dismissal. "We don't matter, Galahad. It's Cassandra that matters now. It's up to _you_ to teach her, you're the only one in the world who can do that in 2019. I know you don't want to, but you must. You _have_ to help Cassandra learn to control the magic she carries, or it will ultimately destroy her. You _know_ it will!" Charlene felt his body begin to relax as he accepted the truth of what she was saying. She squeezed his hand one last time before releasing it.

Jenkins stepped back to regard her for a moment, then he took a deep breath before he laid his hand over his heart and bowed his head in surrender.

"I shall take everything you've said under consideration," he said quietly. Charlene smiled with relief.

"Congratulations on your Sealing," she said, confident now that Galahad would do the right thing. "I'm glad to know that things worked out for you in the end. Or rather that they _will_ work out for you." Jenkins smiled weakly as he took her hand and raised it to kiss the back of it.

"Indeed it has," he said. "It's worked out far better than I ever dared to dream." He then turned back to Judson, pulling himself up straight and adjusting his suit coat as he moved into a more businesslike attitude.

"Now! Where would you prefer me—inside of the coffin or outside?" he asked briskly.

"Inside, if...if you please," said Judson, giving Jenkins a mischievous look. "Charlene and I, we…we aren't as spry as we used to be, and you...you don't appear to have gotten any smaller over the...over the years. I'm not sure we could lift you by ourselves, and it would be rather awkward try…trying to explain to the workmen why we're secretly burying the Caretaker in the basement." Snorting softly at that mental picture, Jenkins stepped obligingly into the coffin and sat down. He looked up at Charlene.

"Don't forget the entry in the Appointment Book!" he reminded her again. "I have no desire to stay cooped up in this thing for _all_ eternity!"

"If you keep hounding me about it, I'll just forget the whole thing and leave you planted there in the ground like...like...a grumpy old tulip bulb!" answered Charlene tartly, but her voice shook faintly with emotion. She waved her hand at him. "Now…just eat the damned apple and get it over with!"

Jenkins smiled grimly as he turned and raised the apple to his lips. After a deep, preparatory breath, he closed his eyes, then took a large bite out of the shining apple. A small dribble of juice ran down his chin, but before he could even raise his other hand to wipe it away, he lost consciousness and fell backwards.

His limp hand released the apple as he slumped, and it fell with a quiet _thump_ onto the floor of the box. Charlene caught him and, together with Judson at the unconscious man's feet, they gently eased him down until he was lying flat on his back inside the wooden coffin. They removed the slippers from his injured feet, then removed all of the bandages from his head, hands and feet so that they could continue to regenerate unhindered over the coming decades while he slept. Charlene had to look away as she removed the bandage covering the ugly hole in Jenkins's face where his nose should've been. She focused her attention on carefully folded Jenkins's long, heavy arms over his stomach. She then kissed the fingers of her hand and touched them to the the Caretaker's cheek in farewell.

"Goodbye, Galahad!" she murmured. She felt Judson lightly place his hand on her back.

"He'll be fine," the Librarian assured her. "This is a good idea he's had. He clearly trusts his Librarians—trusts his wife—to figure things out on their end. We...we have to trust them as well."

Charlene stood up and looked into Judson's eyes, smiled wanly as the Librarian carried a folded sheet of muslin over from the lampstand. They covered Jenkins with the muslin, then Charlene stepped back from the coffin to allow Judson to lift the lid and place it onto the coffin. He picked up the hammer and the handful of nails lying nearby and began nailing the lid down. Charlene flinched with every blow of the hammer.

_I hope this works, Galahad_, she thought as she watched each nail being driven into the wood. _For your sake and for Cassandra's sake and for the Library's sake—I hope this works!_


	20. The Crypt of the Library, 2019

As the team rode the elevator down to the Crypt Level of the Library, Flynn briefed them on its history.

"Whenever possible, the earthly remains of every mortal Librarian and every mortal Guardian are brought back to the Library," he said quietly. "Some are buried, some are entombed, some are cremated—whatever their wish was, if it was possible to fulfill it, it was done."

"_Every_ Librarian and Guardian?" asked Eve doubtfully. "How many are there?"

"One hundred fifty-five Librarians, one hundred and ten Guardians."

"Whoa…" breathed the current Guardian. "But you said only mortal Librarians and Guardians are in the Crypt; what about immortal ones, like Judson and Charlene?" Flynn shook his head somberly.

"Immortals can only leave this plane through the Library's Magic Mirror when their time comes," he explained. He glanced uneasily at his wife. "It'll be the same for us when _our_ time comes."

"What about…?" she murmured, flicking her eyes at the three other Librarians.

"They'll have places here, in the Crypt. With all the other Librarians. If they leave anything behind to bury, that is."

"You know, we're standing _right here_," interrupted Ezekiel, looking askance at the elder Librarian and Guardian. "We can _totally_ hear you!"

"What about Jenkins?" asked Cassandra, her voice strained. "He's immortal; wouldn't he have to pass through the Mirror, too? Like Charlene did, if he was going to…" She nervously dropped her eyes, unable to finish her sentence. She quickly looked up again.

"I mean, if he's not…_gone_, then why would he be here?" The elevator jolted to a halt and the doors slid silently apart.

"That's the question," answered Flynn crisply as he stepped out of the elevator and into the Crypt. "And we're about to find out the answer!"

Everyone trailed quietly behind him. The Crypt was a gigantic space, with a ceiling so high that it couldn't be seen from the ground. Laid out before them in two long lines that flanked a wide central aisle sat scores of huge sarcophagi, each made of black granite. Each sarcophagus bore a large bronze plaque that identified the Librarian inside it, along with their age, their years of service, and a brief listing of their major accomplishments. Torches set in the gray and white marble walls of the chamber illuminated dozens more bronze plaques that marked the final resting places of those Librarians and Guardians who had been cremated. As they walked down the main aisle, their footsteps echoed loudly in the still room.

"Flynn, where do we start looking for Jenkins?" whispered Eve, awestruck by the somber, uncomfortable surroundings.

"I'm not sure," he said casually, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the absolute silence of the Crypt. Eve hunched her shoulders and grimaced.

"Not so loud!" she hissed. Carsen gave her a quizzical look.

"What? But what do you mean, Eve?" he asked, doing his best Boris Karloff impression. "Afraid the dead will hear you and rise from their tombs to take you away with them to the Land of the Dead?" He made claws with his fingers and pretended to grab the Guardian. As she swatted his hands away, Cassandra whirled around to glare at them.

"Really?" she snapped angrily, on the verge of tears. "Can we not even take the _death_ of a loved one seriously around here?" Flynn instantly let go of Eve.

"Sorry, Cassandra," he said contritely. "You're right, I'm sorry." Eve nodded in agreement.

"So where do we start looking?" Baird asked, her tone all business now.

"I say we split up," said Jake. "This place is huge. If we split up, each of us take a section, we'll find Jenkins a lot faster."

"Agreed," said Eve. "Everyone take a different direction and keep your eyes peeled. If you find something, give a shout or send a text. Cassandra, you stick with me since you don't have your phone with you."

They set off in four different directions, each of them quickly examining the plaques and checking the names engraved on them as they began the search for their missing friend.

* * *

Two hours later, the two women paused and leaned against one of the massive black sarcophagi to rest their feet. They hadn't found anything with Jenkins's name on it, and they had reached the end of the vast burial chamber. They hadn't heard anything from any of the men, either.

"I hate to say it, Cassandra, but I don't think he's here after all," murmured Eve as she stretched one tired leg and then the other.

"I'm kinda glad in a way," answered the Librarian uneasily. "I hate the thought of Jenkins being in a place like this." She looked around at the massive tombs surrounding them and the wall that she knew was filled with ashes.

"He has spent so much of his life cooped up inside the Library; I think that if ever did die, he would want to be buried someplace outside, someplace beautiful, someplace open and sunny. Or be cremated and have his ashes scattered someplace where the wind can carry him up into the sky, like a bird, free." Her voice caught in her throat and she dropped her head, quickly wiping a tear from her eye as she began to sniffle. "He would hate it here! It's so dark and depressing and...!"

"He's not dead, Cassandra," Eve reminded her earnestly. "If he had died, you would've felt it, remember? Remember what he said? Not even Time can separate a Sealed couple, remember that?" Cassandra nodded and pulled herself together.

"Yeah, I remember," she said, her tears gone. "You're right. I can't feel any emotions or sensations or anything like that coming from him, but I _can_ feel that he's still alive; I just wish I could feel _where_ he is! Why would the magic mirror say that he's here if he really isn't?" Before Baird could say anything, her phone dinged, alerting her that she received a text message. She quickly dug the phone out of her pocket.

"Fingers crossed," she said, glancing at the Librarian before looking down at the screen. A smile lit up the Guardian's face.

"It's Jake," she said, becoming excited. "He's found something! Let's go!"

The pair raced back towards the elevator, calling Jake's name as they ran. He called back, guiding everyone to his location, a distant corner behind the row of granite tombs. Ezekiel was already there with the historian as Eve, Flynn and Cassandra ran up to them. Jake grinned at them happily.

"Got 'im!" he barked, his eyes glowing. "Check it out!" He turned and pointed to the stone floor behind him. The lighting in the corner was dim, but they were just able to make out a large rectangular slab of gray stone that blended in almost perfectly with its surroundings. Jake raised his phone up and turned on its flashlight, flooding the dark corner with light. Incised into the stone rectangle was a circle. Inside of the circle was a stylized design depicting a long feather quill pen crossed over a rolled up scroll. A flame hovered in the triangular space immediately above the point where the quill and the scroll crossed each other. Jake looked up at the others proudly.

"It's his seal!" he said. "The official seal of the Caretaker of the Library! I've seen Jenkins use it on some of his business correspondence. And since Jenkins is the only Caretaker that the Library's ever had..."

"Jenkins must be buried here!" breathed Flynn, his own excitement building. He saw Cassandra cover her mouth with shaking hands as she stared at the stone marker, and he put a damper on his enthusiasm. Carsen looked over at Stone and Jones.

"Jacob, Ezekiel—we're going to need some tools. Sledgehammers, pickaxes, rope, crowbars." As the two young men ran off to fetch the items, Flynn turned his attention to Cassandra.

"Cassandra, if you'd rather not be here for this..." he started, but her head snapped up at once to glare defiantly at him.

"I'm staying!" she said, her tone brooking no further argument.

* * *

Within half an hour, Jake and Ezekiel were jumping off of the elevator and clumsily pounding their way back to the gravesite, their arms full of heavy digging tools, rope and grappling hooks. Eve and Flynn went to meet them, with Eve taking the large coil of rope and a pick from Jones, while Flynn took a shovel and crowbars from Stone. Flynn dropped the tools onto the floor with an ear-shattering clatter and went to take the pickaxe from Eve.

"Wait!" yelled Jake, and the others turned to look at him. The historian knelt down next to the large slab and began to examine it closely, running his fingers along the seam where it met the stone flooring. He grunted with satisfaction and stood up. "I had an idea while me and Jones were gettin' the stuff. The stone's not mortared or cemented into place; it's just a big slab of stone restin' on a lip built into the floor. I think we should try to pry it up first, before we try the picks or sledgehammers." He looked around at the small group as he spoke.

"We start hittin' that thing with picks or hammers, chunks of it are gonna go flyin' all over the place," he explained. "I've been hit with debris like that before, and it's no picnic. I brought some pry-bars; I say we try those first. If that doesn't work, then we switch to the hammers and picks."

"Good call, Stone," agreed Flynn, letting the pickaxe in his hands drop to floor next to him. "Let me have a pry-bar."

The three men each grabbed one of the long iron bars and took a side, with Flynn on one long side of the stone while Jake and Ezekiel each took one short end of the rectangle. They worked the flat ends of their pry-bars into the seam of the slab, and when all three were ready, Flynn gave a nod.

"Okay, on 'three'," he said, adjusting his grip on the bar. "One. Two. _Three_!"

They all pushed down on their bars at once, struggling to get more leverage as the massive stone began to rise. Eve rushed to help Flynn with his bar and Cassandra ran over to help Ezekiel. The stone rose higher and all three bars slipped further beneath the stone; as soon as it was high enough, they stopped and eased the pry-bars down until the slab were just high enough to allow Ezekiel to place grappling hooks into place. The four Librarians and their Guardian then took hold of the ropes, and together they pulled the heavy stone up and back. It toppled over and slammed to the floor with a deafening boom, vibrating the floor sharply beneath their feet and shattering into several large pieces. Dust flew up from the floor and hung in the air as the team coughed and waved their hands in front of themselves to try and clear it. Cassandra dropped the rope in her hand and rushed to the edge of the large opening in the floor and threw herself down next to it. The others were right behind her.

"Jenkins?!" she cried, peering into the dim opening. As the dust settled, she could make out the lines of a plain, rectangular wooden box about four feet down, a thin layer of dust coating its surface. Jacob, standing right behind her, put a hand on her shoulder as he looked down into the opened grave.

"Hang on a minute, Cass," he murmured as he pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. He pointed the beam into the hole and leaned over the anxious mathematician to get a better look.

"Wood looks solid," he muttered. "No signs of any kind of decay." Cassandra shivered at the image his words called to mind.

"Hey! Look at that!" Stone suddenly said, aiming his light to the side of the coffin. Metal glinted dully in the glaring beam. "This grave can't be more than three feet deep. And it looks like they used chains to lower him down, then left 'em there in place."

"Because Judson and Charlene knew that we would need to raise it out again!" said Flynn eagerly and slapped Jake's shoulder. "That's a good sign! Otherwise they would've dug a deeper grave and used rope, as was customary in the early Twentieth Century when burying a _dead_ body." Cassandra turned to look at him in disbelief. He smiled back at her.

"Don't you see, Cassandra? This confirms that—despite all outward appearances—Jenkins _isn't_ dead!" he said, a grin on his weathered face. He looked around at the others. "Let's fish out the ends of those chains and haul him out!"

They all flopped onto their bellies and located the four ends of the two long chains on which the coffin rested. As they got back to their feet, Flynn looked over at Cassandra.

"Cassandra, we'll do the lifting," he said while the others wrapped the chains around their arms and hands in preparation. "As soon as the box is clear of the grave, give it a good hard push toward the floor to get it started; we can finish pulling it away from the opening from there." Cassandra nodded and took a position at one end of the grave. Flynn looked at the others, each with one manning one end of the chains.

"One, two, three—_pull_!"

All three men and Eve groaned as they struggled to lift the heavy box, the links of the chains biting into their hands and straining their muscles. Cassandra watched closely, and the moment the box was clear, she rushed at it, shoving it as hard as she could with a loud cry. The others moved with her, and there was a shout of triumph from everyone as one end of the box scraped to a halt on the floor of the Crypt. Working as a team, they quickly maneuvered the clumsy box completely onto the floor and safely away from the hole. As the others dropped the chains and rubbed their painful hands and arms, Cassandra ran over to the coffin and stared down at it, her eyes wide. She stretched out her hand to gingerly touch the dusty box.

"I can't believe he's in there," she whispered. "I can't believe he's been here the whole time, for over a hundred years..." Eve went over to the pile of tools and grabbed a pair of crowbars.

"Not for long!" she said in determination. She tossed a crowbar to Jake. "Stone, with me!" The Librarian caught the iron bar and, giving it a couple of spins in his hand, he went to stand at one end of the box while Baird stood at the other end, on the same side. He nodded at the Guardian.

"Let's do it!" he growled, and immediately jammed one end of his crowbar beneath the lid. Eve followed suit. As they forced the lid up, the wood screeched in protest as each nail was jerked free of the coffin. Within five minutes, the lid was off. Jake and Eve lifted it and pushed it back from the coffin, allowing it to fall to floor on the other side of the box. Guardian and Librarian stood back and gazed down into the coffin, the others crowding around them. Inside was a tall figure, covered head to toe by a sheet of plain muslin cloth. Eve turned to Cassandra. The young woman was gaping, wide-eyed, into the coffin, her face white as snow.

"Cassandra," she said quietly. "You want me to..?"

"No!" she said hoarsely, shaking her head slowly. Her eyes were still locked on the shrouded figure. "I want to do this." Scarcely breathing, her heart thudding almost painfully in her chest, the young Librarian knelt down and reached out a trembling hand, slowly at first. She hesitated for a moment just as she was about to touch the fabric, then quickly seized the edge of the shroud to yank it back, uncovering the face of the body inside the coffin before the muslin fell from her fingers.

Lying inside the box was Jenkins, whole and unharmed, with no sign of the horrible injuries she had been told awaited him in 1912. He had a peaceful look on his face, his forearms resting over his stomach. He was neatly dressed in a black, three-piece Edwardian wool suit, with a crisp white tab-collared shirt and a neck tie of emerald-green silk. A long, snow-white beard nearly covered his entire chest, and his silver hair, also having continued to grow over the long decades, was now much longer, longer even that Cassandra's hair. She noticed, too, that his fingernails were also grown long, almost like claws on his ivory hands. The Caretaker looked for all the world like a modern-day Rip Van Winkle.

"Jenkins?" Cassandra whispered, scarcely able to believe that she was actually seeing him again. As the reality quickly sank in, she became almost dizzy with ecstasy.

"Jenkins!" she cried, and threw herself onto him, her hands somehow finding their way around his body and holding onto him tightly, gently shaking him. "Jenkins! Jenkins!" She closed her eyes as she pressed her face against his chest, tears quickly forming, repeating his name over and over.

"It's me, sweetheart! It's Cassandra! You're home now! We made it! We're safe!" Above her, the others watched silently, each flooded with emotions of their own.

After a few minutes, Cassandra pushed herself upright again. Why wasn't he awake? Why wasn't he moving? She brushed his still face with one hand. His cheek was cold and dry. Suddenly, her euphoria evaporated and was replaced by an icy, leaden fear. She spun around to look up at Flynn, her damp eyes wild.

"Flynn! Something's wrong!" she said, panic mounting. "Why isn't he waking up?!" Eve reached down to gently pull Cassandra up and put her arm around the Librarian.

"Eve! Why isn't he waking up?!" Cassandra cried again pitifully, her face the very image of despair.

"I don't know, Cassandra," Baird answered quietly, trying to keep the increasingly distraught woman calm. She looked pleadingly over at her husband. "Flynn...?"

Concerned, Carsen knelt beside the box and began to examine its interior and the Caretaker's body for any clues.

"It _must_ be a spell of some kind," he offered, forcing reassurance into his voice. "I'm sure Judson and Charlene included instructions or a clue as to what they used or something; they knew that we would need that information to revive Jenkins!" He stuck his hand into the bare wooden coffin and began to feel along the sides. After a few seconds, his fingers touched something round and solid.

"A-HA!" he shouted. He wrapped his fingers around the object and pulled it out, holding it high into the air in triumph: An apple with skin the color of fresh blood, absolutely flawless except for one bite that had been taken out of it, the apple's flesh still snowy white. As soon as he saw it, Flynn's face fell, his expression one of shocked dismay.

"Oh, no! NO! NO!"

"What is it?" demanded Jacob.

"A poisoned apple," Flynn said, his voice flat.

"A poisoned apple!" gasped Eve with a mixture of confusion and horror. "How? Jenkins is immortal, poisons can't kill him!"

"Regular poisons, no," answered Flynn weakly. "But this is a magical artifact, with _magical_ poison."

"But…he's not dead!" protested Cassandra weakly, looking around at the others. "I…I can _feel_ it! Through our Sealing! He's _alive_!"

"But asleep," continued Carsen, getting to his feet. "If he was mortal, he would be dead right now. As an immortal, the poison can't _kill_ him, but it can still affect him by making him fall into a sort of magically-induced coma." He looked up and toward Cassandra, his eyes full of sadness.

"That's the other part of the original 'Snow White' story. The Lady Katharina used dark magic to cause an apple tree to grow in the family's garden, a tree that produced highly poisoned apples naturally and for which there was no earthly antidote. When the apples ripened, Katharina disguised herself as an old woman and tricked Margaretha into eating one. The poison was so concentrated that the poor girl died before she could even chew. When the Library learned what had happened, the Librarian came and removed the tree. It's been in the Heart of the Library ever since." He dropped his gaze and focused on the apple in his hand.

"You said there was no earthly antidote; that means there's a magical one? So…then…we _can_ wake him up, right?" said Cassandra, her voice desperate. "How do we do that?" Flynn glanced up a moment, but couldn't look her in the eyes for long. He looked back at the apple and shrugged awkwardly.

"I don't know, Cassandra," he finally confessed. "No one has touched the apples or the tree since it was brought to the Library. I don't know how to counteract it. Or even if…it _can_ be counteracted." He looked down, unable to meet her grief-filled eyes.

"We…might never be able to wake him up, Cassandra. That might be why Charlene and Judson put him here in the Crypt…"

"NO! NO, Flynn!" yelled Cassandra angrily, her strength finally crumbling under the stress of being so close to reunification with her beloved Jenkins and then having that hope snatched away. "There _has_ to be something in the Library somewhere that can help! Charlene and Judson wouldn't just put him to sleep and bury him alive if it wasn't reversible somehow!"

"Perhaps...this was all Jenkins's idea," murmured Carsen. "Maybe he realized there was no way back for him, so he..." Baird's head whipped around to stare at her husband in amazement.

"Jenkins did _not_ commit suicide, Flynn!" she hissed angrily. It was too much for Cassandra to bear.

"NO!" Cassandra shrieked, then threw herself onto Jenkins's deathly-still body, her wan face resting against his cool cheek, her arms clutching him as best they could, and broke into sobs of frustration and despair. "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" The others could do nothing except watch, helpless to comfort her. Ezekiel, standing the closest to her, finally went to kneel down beside Cassandra and put an arm around her quaking shoulders.

"Don't worry, Cassandra, we'll find a way," he murmured gently. "We'll bring him back, I promise!"

"We _all_ promise!" growled Jacob, angrily wiping a threatening tear away before shooting Flynn and look filled with daggers. Cassandra raised her head so she could look at Jenkins through tear-blurred eyes. She stroked his cheek tenderly as her head drooped in remorse and began to wail.

"I'm so sorry, Jenkins! This is all _my_ fault!" she lamented miserably. "I'm so sorry!"

The Librarian lowered her head to gently kiss Jenkins. A large tear slipped from her eye and splashed onto the sleeping man's lips. As she kissed him, the tear slowly seeped its way between Jenkins's lips and into his mouth.

A few seconds later, everyone jumped and shrieked, startled, as the Caretaker, his eyes still closed, suddenly sucked in a huge lungful of air. Cassandra screamed and scrambled backwards, her wet eyes wide with fright. Jenkins exhaled and immediately drew in another deep ragged breath. His eyelids fluttered, then slowly cracked open, blinked rapidly against the nearby torchlight. He felt around with slow, clumsy hands, his overgrown nails scraping over the wood of the coffin until they found the edges of the box, then he slowly, painfully pulled himself upright, gasping loudly for breath. Cassandra, frozen in shock, continued to stare at him, while the others took an involuntary step backwards as they gaped in disbelief. Jenkins sleepily rubbed his eyes with his knuckles as his breathing evened.

"Jenkins?" Cassandra whispered, her blue eyes staring, her trembling hands flying up to her mouth. "Omigod—_Jenkins_?!"

The immortal's head turned at the sound of her voice. His dark eyes flew wide as he recognized the blurry outline of his treasured Librarian.

"Cassandra?" he croaked, his vocal chords raspy after over a century of disuse. A small smile came to his lips as he looked up and his eyes swept the tiny group of stunned, but familiar, faces surrounding him before he lowered his head and reached out to take one of her hands. He saw his own hand and its talon-like nails and he hesitated for a moment, but he couldn't keep himself from touching her.

"Here you are!" he said, trying to sound lighthearted, but his scratchy voice and welling eyes betrayed his true emotions. "I'm sorry I missed you in 1912, my love, but…well...things didn't quite go as I had planned them."

With a scream of pure joy, Cassandra launched herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, repeating his name again and again. She hid her face against his chest and wept freely. She could feel his heart beating wildly under her forehead, loud and strong, and it filled with indescribable happiness. She breathed deeply and smelled the familiar, comforting scent that only Jenkins possessed. She could hardly believe that the whole ordeal was finally over, that she finally had her knight back, safe and whole. She cried so hard that soon her small body began to shake, and her shrieks became little more than strangled croaks.

Jenkins flung his long arms around Cassandra and pulled her tightly to him. He dragged her into the box so that she was sitting on his lap, her legs dangling over its side. He buried his face in her hair, his eyes squeezed almost painfully shut. He hoarsely whispered her name as he held her, tears slipping from beneath his lids and down his cheeks to mingle with her red locks. One of his large hands slid up to rest on the back of her head as he moved his head to kiss her, the side of her head first, then a trail over her forehead and nose, until he finally found her tear-stained mouth. He kissed her deeply, passionately, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips, tiny whimpers of ecstasy sounding in both of their throats. His heart filled to bursting with happiness at finally being reunited with his precious Cassandra, that he finally had her back, safe and sound. His dizzying joy overwhelmed him so much that he thought he might actually faint.

Jenkins felt her small body trembling against him. He broke their kiss and leaned back so that he could see her, his hands moving to tenderly hold her beautiful, tear-stained face between them. He looked into her ocean-blue eyes, felt the love she had for him through their bond—a love so powerful that it had literally transversed Time itself.

"I love you, Cassandra," he whispered. As inadequate as they were to express what he was feeling at that moment, they were the only words he could think of to say to her. Cassandra's face crumpled as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

"I love you, too!" she whispered back, then threw herself into his arms again.

Eve clutched Flynn's are, overcome with emotion. "True love's kiss!" she murmured. Flynn looked over at her and snorted.

"Nonsense!" he said, to his wife's astonishment. "A mere kiss is unable to break the spell of the apple's magic-that's just in the fairy tale!" He leaned forward and began to lecture the others. "You see, it's more likely that Cassandra's tears contain the chemical compounds that make up the physical manifestation of her love for Jenkins—phynylethylamine, dopamine, seratonin, oxcytocin, endorphins. Combined-and _enhanced_ by the magic of their Sealing-her tears became a sort of 'molotov cocktail' that destroyed the magically-enhanced chemical compounds in the apple that are the physical manifestation of the hatred and evil of Lady Katharina, which were _then_ infused into the apple tree and _then_, in turn, in its fruit! If there was no Sealing between these two, I doubt Cassandra could've awakened Jenkins no matter how many times she kissed him!" Eve turned to look at her husband.

"_Or_, Flynn, maybe it's just a case of _'true love's kiss'_ conquers all'?" she countered stubbornly. Flynn grinned and nodded as he slipped his arm around her waist.

Above them, Flynn, Eve, Ezekiel and Jacob stood silently and watched the emotional reunion. Flynn and Eve didn't even try to hide their own tears as they held hands and beamed with happiness for their friends and for having their family back, intact. Jacob fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot and scratching the back of his head and neck, furiously blinking back the tears that came to his eyes and trying to clear his throat of the large lump that seemed to have come out of nowhere. Ezekiel watched the proceedings with his arms crossed, all of his weight resting on one foot, hiding his own feelings of happiness and relief behind a carefully cultivated expression of boredom as he gazed distractedly around the crypt until the emotionally-charged atmosphere seemed to finally ease up a little. Then the thief stood up straight and looked down at Jenkins and Cassandra.

"Oi! You two!" he said loudly, sounding greatly put upon. "Get a room, why don't you!"

Jake turned and punched the Aussie's shoulder, grateful to finally have _something_ to punch. Eve glared at the thief, while Flynn, oblivious, continued to look down at the happy pair. Jenkins and Cassandra, however, only laughed and held each other even more tightly. Flynn knelt and put his arms around the couple.

"Welcome home, you two!" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Eve, Jake and Ezekiel quickly followed suit, until everyone was enveloped in a tight embrace, their hearts full of joy at finally having everyone safely home.


	21. The Jenkins Bedroom, 2019

The newly-reunited little family made its way to the workroom, moving slowly to accommodate Jenkins and his somewhat stiff muscles. Jenkins and Cassandra didn't even stop to change out of their now woefully outdated clothes, though Jenkins did insist, however, on a quick side trip to the infirmary, where he trimmed his fingernails and toenails back to a proper length, then hurried to his room just long enough to put on a pair of comfortable slippers. He quickly rejoined the others, and as they burst into the workroom, Franklin and Thistle raised their heads at the same time from Jenkins's desk.

Despite the strange clothes and the flowing white hair and beard, he still recognized his adoptive father. The moment the little dragon saw Jenkins, he let loose a scream that would've shattered windows anywhere else other than the Annex. He scrabbled frantically down from the Caretaker's high desk and raced across the workroom floor to leap up into the old immortal's waiting arms. His long tail lashing back and forth like a whip, Franklin licked Jenkins's face in a frenzy of joy and repeatedly head-butted him, squealing the whole time. Jenkins tried to soothe Franklin, murmuring to him and petting his long neck and sides. No one could miss how quickly tears welled up in the immortal's dark eyes as his beloved little tea dragon squirmed happily in his arms.

Thistle followed her friend across the room and now hopped up and down madly at Jenkins's feet, excitedly screeching his name. Impatient for his attention, she finally sank her claws into the wool fabric of his suit and simply climbed up the back of his legs and over his back until she was able to perch on his shoulder. She wrapped her forearms tightly around his head and began nuzzling his hair, trilling loudly while fluttering her wings with happiness, while the others laughed and dabbed their eyes a bit as the little creatures' welcome home overwhelmed Jenkins.

There was an impromptu celebration that night, with a feast of beer and delivered pizzas. What the party lacked in culinary excitement, though, was more than made up for by the feelings of excited joy and gratitude that comes to a broken family that has been made whole again. Everyone shared their stories about what had happened once the Heart of Sorrow took the Caretaker and the Librarian, all of them told with more tears and hugs.

By the time the storytelling was done, everyone was physically and emotionally drained, but no one wanted the party to break up just yet. Eve pulled out her phone and retrieved the Bluetooth speaker from her desk. There was music and more laughter and—after few more beers—lots of dancing, though no matter the tempo of the songs being played, Jenkins and Cassandra only held each other close and slow-danced the entire time. It was an unusual sight, even for the Library—especially since Franklin refused to leave Jenkins's side the entire evening, clinging to his shoulder like a stubborn burr. The only time he would let go of Jenkins was when Cassandra gently pried him off of her husband, only to have the little dragon cling to her instead, licking her face and wriggling just as happily against her.

Finally, long after dawn, Jenkins noticed that Cassandra could barely keep her eyes open. The party was winding down anyway, so he took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet from the table while bidding the others a good night. Saying little along the way, the pair walked to their suite, Franklin scurrying along with them, yipping and squealing deliriously. The Librarian's arm was around his waist, the Caretaker's arm was around her shoulders, each of them simply happy to be together again after their long, harrowing separation.

The moment the bedroom door was closed behind them, Franklin ran across the room, jumped up onto the large bed and proceeded to roll around on the thick comforter. Jenkins took Cassandra in his arms and held her close for a long time, breathing in the scent of her hair, reveling in the warmth of her body against his.

"I was so afraid..." Cassandra began raggedly, and Jenkins held her even more tightly.

"I know," he whispered into her hair. "I know, my love. I was afraid, too."

He stood back and tipped her face upward with a crooked finger and lowered his head to kiss her. It was soft at first, but the kiss quickly deepened. She returned it eagerly, whimpering quietly and weaving her fingers into his long hair, clutching it to prevent him from breaking apart from her before she was ready. Jenkins slipped one hand into her red hair and grasped a fistful of it at the base of her head, the tip of his tongue dancing over hers. Long-dormant desire burst into flame within him. He broke his kiss and nuzzled his way to her ear.

"I need you, Cassandra," he whispered urgently. He wanted to give in to his need then and there, but her tired, careworn face reminded him that she needed rest. With tremendous effort, he forced himself to stand back from her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

"But, you need to sleep now," he said gently. She started to say something, but he put his finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up again to look at her with twinkling eyes. "I've waited this long; I can certainly manage a few more hours until you're rested!"

He bent over and swept her up into his arms, bridal-style, and started to carry her over to their bed, when a harsh gasp from Cassandra stopped him. Looking down, he was shocked to see stark, naked fear in the wide blue eyes staring up at him. Cassandra tightened her hold his arms and she began to whimper.

"No!" she whispered, barely loud enough to be heard and she dug her fingers painfully into his arms. It came a second time, slightly louder, and she started shaking her head. "No!"

Jenkins realized with a jolt what was happening: Cassandra was reliving the moment he carried her to the rail of the Titanic to drop her into the lifeboat. She was having what Colonel Baird called a "flashback".

He gasped suddenly, loudly, as he felt a bolt of terror and grief lance through his very soul through their Sealing like a hot dagger blade. Never before had he felt anything so strongly from Cassandra, and for a moment he wondered if he felt it now because of the Old Magic that Charlene claimed Cassandra possessed. He immediately set her feet gently back onto the floor. The knowledge that his well-intentioned actions had caused his beloved Cassandra such deep, painful trauma overwhelmed and horrified him. He wrapped her up in his arms and stood there, holding her tightly against himself.

"I'm sorry, my love!" he rasped, overcome by his feelings of guilt and regret. Though he squeezed his eyes closed, tears still managed to find their way out and slip down his cheeks and into her soft hair. "I never meant to hurt you! I only wanted to save you, I only wanted to protect you! I had to get you off of the ship! I had to save you! You would've died if I hadn't, and I simply couldn't let that happen!" Cassandra disentangled herself from his arms and looked up at him, her own cheeks damp now.

"I know, sweetheart; I'm all right," she whispered back, and forced a small smile. "I know that you would never do anything to hurt me if you can help it. And you were right, about the Heart Stone, about getting me off of the ship, about getting to the Library—everything. I should've trusted you more. All this time I thought I was, but when push came to shove, I wasn't very trusting at all. And I'm sorry for that!" She buried her face in his long white beard and held onto him tightly. Jenkins stroked her head for a few moments, then gently pushed her away so that he could look into her eyes.

"You have nothing to apologize for, my dear," he said steadily. "Charlene told me everything that happened to you after I put you in the lifeboat. You were brave, you were resourceful, you did what had to be done to make sure that the Heart of Sorrow was finally secured once and for all, even if that meant you might never see me again. You were a true Librarian, Cassandra, in every sense of the word, and I am very proud of you! Never let anyone tell you that you're anything less than that—a true Librarian!"

"But the whole thing was my fault in the first place!" she protested, her tone changed to one of anger and self-recrimination. "If I hadn't let it trick me into picking it up in the first place..."

"Even the best of Librarians can be tricked," he cut in sternly. "I've seen it happen time and time again. And of the ones who were tricked, only a few were able to set things right again. You are now one of those few, Cassandra, and that makes you an exceptional Librarian!"

"You're not just saying that because I'm your wife?" she tried to say teasingly, but to her own ears it came out sounding whiny and needy. Jenkins only chuckled softly and smiled.

"No, I am not," he affirmed. "I'm saying it because it's the truth!" The immortal moved his hands to her throat and began unbuttoning the high collar of her blouse.

"Now, why don't we get you out of all of these layers of clothes and into bed, hmmm? I know you're exhausted, I can see it in your eyes." The Librarian smiled and nodded in agreement. After he removed her jacket and blouse, she finished undressing herself, leaving only the long chemise on to sleep in like a nightgown. While she undressed, Jenkins stripped off his own suit of clothes. When Cassandra was finished, she turned and burst into laughter at the sight of her husband wearing an old-fashioned set of dull red-colored underwear that covered him from neck to ankles, with a flap that buttoned comically over his rear-end.

"_What_ on earth are you wearing?" she giggled, pointing at the strange garment. Jenkins sniffed and stood up proudly.

"I'll have you know, young woman, that this is a union-suit!" he informed her archly. "Very practical in the cooler months of the year, especially in drafty buildings in the days before central heating!"

"With that long hair and beard, it makes you look kind of like Santa Claus!" she teased. Jenkins stroked his new whiskers and frowned thoughtfully.

"Yes, I suppose I do," he conceded. "A shave and a haircut will have to be the first order of business tomorrow. Or, rather, later today, I suppose, after you wake up." He paused as a thought occurred to him, then he leaned forward slightly to give her a knowing look.

"Or, rather, a shave and a haircut will have to be the _second_ order of business after your wake up!" he rumbled cheekily, and winked.

"You're going to sleep with me, then?" she giggled, happiness filling her eyes. Jenkins shook his head.

"No," he chuckled. "I just woke up from a one hundred and seven year-long nap, remember?" A look of sheer disappointed obliterated the joy in her eyes.

"But don't worry, my love; I _am_ going to stay here with you!" he hastened to reassure her. "There's no way that I would leave you alone now; I meant only that I wasn't going to be sleeping."

Cassandra beamed as she climbed into the large bed, Jenkins along with her. Franklin instantly ran to Jenkins and curled up on the immortal's pillows. Jenkins settled himself under the blankets, propped slightly upright on his pillows, while Cassandra snuggled against him, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her head on his chest. His heart was beating loudly and strongly, just as it always had, and its rhythm soothed her anxious spirt for the first time in what seemed like decades. Perhaps is has been decades she thought, smiling to herself. With time travel, who could tell? She then frowned as she became aware of a difference in her husband's body.

"You're so thin now!" Cassandra said, a tiny note of concern in her voice. Jenkins only chuckled and briefly tightened his arm around her in a quick hug.

"Regeneration requires a great deal of energy," he answered amiably. "But don't worry, I'll put some weight back on soon enough. I daresay I needed to lose a few pounds anyway; I did have a bit of a belly coming in, you know!"

"But…I liked your belly!" she pouted. Jenkins laughed softly as she snuggled against him contentedly.

"Bless you, Cassandra! You're the best Tree-wife a man could ever hope for!"

She smiled and snuggled into him, but the stiff whiskers of the Caretaker's beard tickled her nose and eyelids. Spluttering and snorting, she tilted her head to look upward.

"I think you should definitely lose the beard, but...can you keep the hair? For a little while, at least?" she asked. She reached up to comb her fingers through the long, thick strands. Jenkins leaned back to look down at her.

"You like my hair long?" he asked, amused. Cassandra grinned up at him.

"I think it's kinda sexy!" she answered with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "I can't wait to get my hands into it and pull on it the next time we 'share intimacy'!" The last two words were said in her best imitation of his voice, and Jenkins burst into laughter.

"Then you shall have your wish, my love!" he said, his heart filled almost to bursting with love for his saucy little Librarian. Jenkins tightened the arm holding held Cassandra to hold her snugly against him. He reveled in the feel of her tiny body against his, warm and soft and smooth. That, more than anything else, proved to him that this wasn't all just a cruel dream. He was truly home, reunited with his beloved Librarian.

"I love you," he murmured, softly kissing her head. Cassandra smiled and laid her head back on his shoulder, becoming more quiet and subdued.

"I love you, too," she echoed, reaching up to run the fingers of one hand through the hair at his temple again. Her blue eyes suddenly filled with tears and her voice began to quaver. "I was so afraid I'd never see you again! I was so afraid that I'd lost you…!" Jenkins pulled her upward so that her head rested higher on his shoulder and allowed her to lay her face just under his jaw.

"Shhhh," he soothed, cradling her in his arms. "All's well that ends well, my love! We're together now, that's what matters."

"We were lucky," she continued softly, ignoring his attempts to reassure her. "What if something like this happens again?" She tilted her face upward to look at him. "What if next time we're not so lucky?" Jenkins took a deep breath as he considered her question. He tightened his arm around her while he raised his other one to place his hand comfortably underneath his head.

"I think we should wait to cross that bridge, if we ever come to it again," he said.

"So we just cross our fingers and hope for the best?" she asked, dissatisfied with that answer.

"Yes," he replied gently, to her surprise. He paused for a moment, and Cassandra remained silent, knowing that he was thinking.

"We work for the Library, Cassandra, every day might very well be our last; you know that." He rolled over carefully so they were both lying on their sides, facing each other, propping his head on his hand as he looked soberly into the Librarian's troubled eyes.

"What I'm saying for now is, let's just…take the win, as Colonel Baird would say. We were lucky this time, yes—but ultimately, we won. Let's just focus on that for right now. And hope that our luck holds well into the future." Cassandra snuggled against him, the two of them falling quiet for a few moments, each of them lost their own thoughts, until she broke the silence.

"Just promise me that if something like that ever comes up again, you won't risk your own life on my account?" she asked softly, tilting her head up, her eyes pleading. She heard the air rush into her husband's lungs as he sucked in a deep breath.

"I can't make that promise, my love," he replied softly, regretfully. He reached out to brush his fingertips over her cheek, light as a spring breeze. His eyes locked onto hers. "Because I will take any risk, I will make any sacrifice I have to in order to protect you and keep you safe." With that, Jenkins slipped his arms around her and pulled her close as he rolled onto his back again, one hand guiding her head back to his shoulder before Cassandra could protest. As he wrapped both his arms around her, she cuddled her body against his and sighed. She always felt so safe wrapped up in his arms like this.

"Would you even sacrifice the Library for me?" she whispered, half-teasing.

"Yes," he answered firmly, without a moment's hesitation. "If it ever comes to that, yes." Cassandra pulled herself out of his embrace and sat up, looking down on Jenkins with round, horrified eyes.

"No! Jenkins!" she said in a shocked tone. "Promise me that you'll never do that! I don't want anyone to be hurt or to die because of me, especially not you or Eve or any of the others! And you can't sacrifice the Library for me, either, it's too important to sacrifice for just one person! You can't do that! I won't let you! You have to promise me that you'll never do that! Please! Swear to me right now!" Jenkins met her earnest gaze.

"Cassandra, I love you more than anything else in this world—" he began, but he never got to finish.

"How many times have you told us that Librarians are expendable?" Cassandra challenged him fiercely. "How many times while you were training us did you say that our lives didn't matter, only the Library matters?" Jenkins opened his mouth to answer her, but she cut him off.

"I wanted to stay with you when we were on the Titanic," she said, laying her hand on the side of his face. "But you told me it was my duty as a Librarian to sacrifice my own wants for the good of the Library and the mission." She leaned forward slightly as she fixed her eyes on his. "So what's your duty, Jenkins? Isn't your duty to the Library as its Caretaker ultimately the same duty as mine is as a Librarian?"

She leaned down and kissed his lips softly, then sat up again, her blue eyes entreating again. Jenkins could only hold her gaze for a few seconds before he had to look away. Damn her logical mind! he thought bitterly, but he was also proud of her at the same time for being the Librarian that she was—strong and brave, smart and loyal. If she had been anything less, they wouldn't be here now. He took a deep breath and looked up, laying his hand over hers, still resting against his cheek.

"I will not sacrifice the Library—nor anyone else—in order to save you," he surrendered. "I swear it."

"Now promise not to sacrifice yourself!" she ordered him, giving him a pointed glare. Jenkins chuckled softly and gave her tiny shake of his head.

"That, I will never promise, Cassandra," he said, and tightened his hand that covered hers. He turned his head and kissed her palm tenderly. "I suggest again that you take your win and leave it at that." Her eyes narrowed as she gave him a look that clearly said 'this isn't over yet', but said nothing. She yawned suddenly, and he pulled her down to lie next to him, then tugged the comforter up and tucked it around her, kissing the top of her head as she settled in against him.

"Sleep, now, my love," he murmured. "We'll talk more about this later."

The Librarian decided that, for now anyway, she would follow his advice and take the wins. As she drifted off to sleep, she relished the feel of his strong body against hers, happy to have her man back. She was still uneasy about his willingness to sacrifice himself for her, though, and Cassandra pondered her husband's words. Perhaps it was all of the drama and pain of the last few weeks that influenced her thinking, coupled with her feelings right now, but she simply couldn't quell or ignore her fear of losing Jenkins again to some stupid magical accident or to an intentional magical attack. There was still plenty of wild magic out there, no shortage of crazy magical artifacts floating around, with more being created every day. There were still things that evil people were not afraid to do or use against the Library or anyone else who got in their way. She might not lose Jenkins to death—he was immortal, after all—but this latest adventure brought it home to her with crystal clarity just how vulnerable even immortals are to magic and its power.

Cassandra set her jaw in the darkness, more determined than ever to master Merlin's magic, with or without Jenkins's help, with or without his blessing. It was simply the only way she could protect everyone, especially her stubborn husband, from the dangers of the magic that would always be loose in the world.

Jenkins listened to his wife's soft breathing as it gradually became deeper and more regular the closer she slid toward sleep, her body slowly relaxing and becoming limp in his arms. He moved his head to lightly kiss hers as she slept, his precious, beautiful wife. They were not just words, just an overblown declaration of love whenever he told her that he would die for Cassandra; he meant them wholeheartedly. Had her life depended on him dying that frigid April night in 1912, he would've gladly done so. He would literally do anything to keep her safe, to protect her from any and all harm. He'd had to stand by so many times over the centuries, unable to change the course of events, and watch others die—family, friends, Librarians, Guardians—so many others!

But Cassandra was different. This mishap with the Heart of Sorrow only served to underscore how mortal she was—frail and vulnerable to so many things, and next to defenseless against magic. Jenkins shivered faintly as he remembered the brief conversation he'd had with Charlene regarding Cassandra and the possibility that she possessed the Old Magic. No, he corrected himself. Not the possibility—the certainty. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew deep in his bones that Charlene was right; Cassandra had been born with the Gift. He had sensed it the moment she entered the Library's service. He simply didn't want it to be true.

Jenkins unconsciously held his sleeping wife more tightly, so much so that she whimpered in her sleep in discomfort. He loosened his arms immediately and murmured to her softly until she was still again. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw for a few moments. The Gift. That's what the ancients called it; after seeing its destructive power firsthand, however, Jenkins called it nothing but a curse. And now it seemed that Cassandra was in the grip of that curse.

He vowed to himself that he would not lose Cassandra to this curse. Jenkins bent his head down and closed his eyes. He whispered another vow into her ear, that on his honor as a knight he would find a way to cheat Time and Death and the curse of the Old Magic. He would find a way to steal his beloved Cassandra from their greedy, clawing, consuming clutches, even if it meant breaking his newly-made promise to her and sacrificing the Library itself to accomplish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so ends "The Heart of Sorrow". I hope you all enjoyed it, and I thank you for reading! Will Jenkins accept Cassandra's "gift" and help her to master it? Or will he decide that it's simply too dangerous to risk and do everything in his power to thwart her? Will Cassandra accept his advice and try to suppress the Old Magic she carries? Or will she ignore Jenkins's concerns and simply go her own way without any guidance? And what will all of this do to their relationship with each other and with the rest of the team? Find out in the next installment of this series!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Been working on this one off and on for the last two years; I hope everyone enjoys it!


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